Living to die
by Vengeful Soldier
Summary: On Krieg you are born with sins already weighing you down and the only way to redeem yourself is death in the Emperors service. A young Krieg nobleman joins the Korps, not to atone, but for revenge.
1. Chapter 1 The Beginning

**Chapter 1 The Beginning**

In the 41st millennium mankind is besieged on all sides by the treacherous heretic, the blight of xenos clawing at our very door, as well as the terrifying daemons from the cursed warp. It is the darkest time in human history with the most oppressive government imaginable and crimes legendary. Yet all these measures are necessary for one very reason, survival. For in the 41st millennium that is all you can strive for.

The only hope for humanity comes from the God Emperor of Mankind upon his golden throne on holy Terra. There he has sat for over ten thousand years. His divine light powers the astronomicon and gives a chance of survival for humanity. For he is what binds us, guides us, and unites us. Without him, humanity would surely fall to the threats from both out and from within. To go against the Imperium is to go against him and there is no greater heresy or crime imaginable.

Through his continued sacrifice and love mankind has endured countless horrors that would have otherwise destroyed us. He endures constant pain and battles for his very soul and very sanity, even in the state he is in he endures. To give any less of ourselves is a crime to him and the rest of humanity.

Though there are those who go against him and his holy Imperium. Those who believe that they know better and have a petty grievance against those who carry out his will. They fail to remember, to know what he has done for them and continues to do for them. These planets that go against the Emperor are heretics and have turned their backs on humanity.

These planets that rebel do not stay out of the fold for long and are soon brought back under the Emperors light and divine protection by his angels the space marines, or his holy hammer the Imperial Guard. One such planet that went against him was Krieg.

Krieg was once a lush world teeming with farms and beautiful blue skies. The waters were clean and fresh as well as the citizenry pious and loyal. It was a paradise for imperial citizens, a model world. Then one day it all changed.

There was discontent, some petty grievance or other and the people no longer wanted to be apart of the Emperors Imperium. These malcontents and heretics had support of the planetary governor, his cabinet, and the top military and civil leaders of Krieg. They quickly overthrew many of the hives and installed their own government.

At this time the Imperium was unable to offer aid to the loyal citizens of Krieg and they seemed destined to fall from grace. But there was hope, a regimental commander named Colonel Jurgen. He was in charge of the forces in the capital hive and offered the first real resistance in the Emperors name. He started in by putting a bolt round in the Governors head.

He waged a war and his men fought with a ferocity second to none in the Imperium. Unable to advance with his minimal forces, he turned the capital hive into a fortress. Miles of trenches were dug and miles more of barbed wire and tank obstacles were placed. Mines were sewn anywhere where the traitors could advance and hardened bunkers built. Jurgen and his men were loyal to the Emperor and they were willing to go to any length to show it. Their determination only overshadowed by the shame they felt at having their planet turn against the God Emperor.

The fighting was brutal and millions died on the battlefields and as collateral. Despite the righteous fury and purity of the cause, the loyal Kriegers were losing. With no reinforcements in sight and the situation worsening everyday, Jurgen made a decision that would forever damn Krieg to a half existence. It would exist, but only in the barest sense of the word, like how a corpse still has a name if you can remember it. If Krieg couldn't exist as a loyal planet it wouldn't exist at all. For in the governors personal files and documents was the planets access codes. Everything from food shipment schedules to flight plans. It contained anything and everything of Krieg that had importance, from portfolios of up and coming political rivals to the location of secret manufactorums which would be used to supply the traitor army once they had won their independence. There was also the military codes. The launch codes.

Thirteen hundred nuclear spears with which to throw at will, some dating back a thousand years or more. With the flick of a key, Jurgen launched the planets entire nuclear arsenal at itself. Like the birthing of a thousand new stars in brilliant displays of power and destruction, Krieg was forever more changed, devastated by nuclear fire and the screaming winds of death that swept over the planet like the four riders of the Apocalypse from ancient Terra. Sweeping aside and reforming landscape and lives in an instant.

The decision was made by men with grim expressions who voted on the fate of a world. They voted anonymously, each casting their ballot for the fate of their planet. They all stood to lose something, whether it was family, friends, land, titles, or at the base of it all their home. Twenty two ballots were cast with Jurgen abstaining from the vote. The decision was unanimous as it was predictable, the fate of Krieg would be decided by Imperial hand, not traitor. Twenty two men decided the fate of a world in a dimly lit bunker on an unseasonal cold and rainy night. Twenty two men decided that Krieg would burn.

Billions died from the combination of nuclear fire, radiation and the ensuing nuclear winter translated roughly as, the never ending night, for it seemed that it never would. Many died in the initial blast, but the majority died from exposure and the harsh climate that followed. Many were simply passive observers that held no hate for Imperium, but were simply too frightened to act out against the rebel forces. The bones of those who died in the deserted hives have long since dried iron hard or gone to dust, leaving only whispers and echoes where once it thrummed with life.

However from the ashes of these fallen cites and devastated world rose the Death Korps of Krieg. The most loyal and devout of Krieg, they formed the backbone of the loyal forces. Forced to wear combat haz mat suits, they endured conditions that would have broken normal men and women. Where others would have given up they pressed on, as indomitable and unstoppable as a supernova. In a world where any and every wound was fatal, whether from the exposure to radiation, the toxins in the air or enemy fire, they had to be.

With the harsh condition of the new world, the old Krieg hives became uninhabitable, so new hives were built underneath them. The hardened bunkers became living quarters and more were dug and built. Endless miles of tunnels, corridors, and chambers were excavated and made livable. With the constant threat of exposure and harsh conditions people began to live in their suits, only removing them in the safest and most private of circumstances.

The civil war was long and bloody, but eventually Jurgens Death Korps were victorious, after five hundred years of warfare. Jurgen died before his dream of liberating Krieg could be realized, but the death Korps pressed on to victory. Krieg had been saved from heresy, but forever maimed by the battles fought on her surface. She was a sickly planet with a toxic atmosphere like a dying mans breath and land unfit for vermin. The people of Krieg knew that this was the Emperors way of punishing them and they felt unimaginable shame at their betrayal.

No more was Krieg a paradise world, a world of the arts and natural beauty, but an ugly world of death, disease, and shame. They would no longer focus on themselves and leisure, they would repent by giving all they could to the Imperium. This however presented a problem.

Krieg no longer had fertile lands with which to feed the more loyal citizens of the Imperium. They no longer had the land to offer living space to pious off worlders, for their land was grey and lifeless like a morticians clients. With no other resource to give, Krieg gave the one thing that they did have, themselves.

Nearly every male Krieger is put into the Death Korps of Krieg, with most families having a minimum of eight children. The children of Krieg are taught from birth that they owe the Imperium everything and anything they can possibly give to make up for their sins. They are taught that the only way they can atone is by giving their lives and taking as many of the Emperors enemies with them as possible before they die, and only then will they be forgiven, for in death and only in death can they atone. The sins of the father weigh heavily upon the shoulders of the sons of Krieg.

Even in a servile society like that of Krieg, their are still the rulers. With Jurgen were twenty two noble families who gave everything they had to keep the planet loyal. Their descendants are the ruling class of Krieg with the Governor elected from one of the families. Still in Krieg, no one in the Korps starts out as an officer. No one starts out in any position of authority on Krieg. It is earned through service and loyalty a lesson learned at the cost of their planet.

In the Korps you are expected to die in glorious combat to atone. To live is to deny your atonement and prolong your shame. Still you are not allowed to simply throw your life away, merely stay and fight until the last. Follow every order and always take the hardest enemy so the more pure of Imperial citizens may live to fight again and revel in the Emperors light. In the Korps, no member is over seventy years of age, not even the generals. Indeed most regimental commanders are only in their thirties. To be promoted is a mark of shame, to survive, a mark of cowardice. To survive service in the Death Korps is to deny atonement, forgiveness, release.

Ever since Krieg reestablished contact with the Imperium, they have been the shock troops, the leading edge of the hammer blow always making the crack or holding the line. Never wavering, always steadfast. Krieg is known as one of the hardest and most loyal forces in the Imperium. The most pious, the most devout, the most fearless. This however is a misconception. They are just the most eager to die.

In Krieg a boy is born to one of the twenty two noble families, the Von Shreiders. One of the most influential and prominent families in Krieg, they have had twelve children and nine have already atoned. Only two sons and a daughter remain. They are to stay and carry on the legacy of the Shreiders and continue the dynasty. However, fate may have irrevocably intertwined them with the fate of the Imperium. For in the far future, there is only war. Any other pursuit is folly.

A hard blow to the stomach and a follow up elbow throws Erich Von Shreider to the ground. He hits the training mat hard and instantly gets back to his feet, throwing everything he can muster at his opponent. For a moment the only sound it the swinging of scything limbs and flesh hitting flesh. His opponent blocks his strikes effortlessly, almost disinterested and hits him with a kick that throws him back two metres winding him, and taking him out of the fight.

Erich lays on the mat breathing hard and gasping, pain rippling through his eight year old body. With a light patter of feet his opponent walks to his side and looks down as if disappointed at his performance in the unfair fight.

"You're dead," he says dispassionately. "If this is the best you can manage you will bring nothing but shame and disgrace to our already fallen name. Tomorrow we will add an extra hour onto unarmed training and yet another to physical endurance." Erich merely continued breathing and let out a low whine of pain. His father let out a noise of disgust.

"You must learn to live with the pain Erich, you must overcome it to survive, to be anything in this life you must be better than all others, you must be stronger. For now you are a disgrace to this family and our duty. You're blessed brothers have already given their lives, they were strong yet they still fell. Are you?"

"I will be father, I won't fail you." promised Erich as he struggled to rise. His father regarded him with his steel grey eyes, the same as Erichs. The prominent cheekbones, dark brown hair and impressive height all traits of the family line. Erichs father was none other than Hans Von Shreider, Lord General of the Death Korps and blade master of Krieg. The thirty eighth patriarch of the Von Shreider family and veteran of more than a thousand battles. His martial prowess was legendary and supposedly unmatched by any mortal man, even said to be superior to some of the legendary space marines.

Though some said it was just bias of drunk nobles who saw him spar in tourneys, either way he was an extremely skilled fighter.

"See that you do," said Hans leaving the mat and being attended to by a silver haired butler as he was dressed. He donned his customary enviro suit and gas mask, as well as a jet black armoured greatcoat before departing. The butler couldn't have been more than thirty and his silver hair wasn't natural. No one knows when the tradition started, but at some point in time the Von Shreiders had started a tradition of having their servant hair colour genetically changed to a bright silver sheen. Whether for aesthetic or some long forgotten ceremonial purpose it is done to every servant bonded to the family.

The servant was not a native of Krieg with his dark skin and eyes. He gave Erich a look of disgust before departing the room leaving Erich by himself. As if being in the same room as him made his skin crawl and made him feel unclean with a burning need to distance himself from the young lord.

It seemed that no one could stand to be in Erichs presence and even the relationship with his siblings seemed strained. Well the ones who were still living at least, and that number seemed to be diminishing all the time. The only ones who seemed to be able to stand his presence was his mother, his father,

and his caretaker.

His mother loved him unconditionally and always showered him with affection. Whether it was because she was desperate to hang onto the last of her children or because he was the youngest was as of yet unclear. Only that she showed more affection than was deemed proper by a mother of Krieg to her son.

His father had taken it upon himself to train Erich in all the Martial arts from the hand, to the sword, to the rifle. As well as training him extensively in table manners and the universal way to properly behave when meeting other people of standing across the Imperium. As a noble and a member of the Von Shreider family he was demanded to be stalwart and polite no matter the circumstance. He was a representative of the family and his actions reflected on the whole family line, being eight or not, his family was of high importance and always needed to look its best.

Even though his father was of high position, he was not of high standing. Although people understood the need to ensure the line of succession continued, some still believed that he should have died long ago on some nameless battlefield. Hans Von Shreider was fifty six years old and with juvenant treatments, that might as well of been twenty. He was still as strong as an aurouch and quick as a las beam, it was said that it was beautiful when he did sword drill or fought with the family power sword Gottandammerung, it was truly beautiful. It would dance, singing through the air whistling its deadly arc as a blue light tracked the swords path, like the flame follows the fast moving torch. The sword dated back to a time when the Emperor walked amongst men, and its very name meant twilight of the gods. An oddly fitting name, since it was probably forged around the time that the Emperor ascended to the golden throne.

His caretaker was another off worlder by the name of Elisha. She had only been with the family for two years after a rogue trader had sold her to the Von Shreiders. She had been sixteen at the time and had been sold by her family to try and help pay off gambling debts. Elisha was from a world that wasn't quite a hive world, but had several large megalopolis cities. She had been bought with the express purpose of being Erichs caretaker after the previous had refused to even look at him anymore despite the threats or consequences. Erich had already gone through four caretakers in six years, for they could not seem to stand his presence beyond delivering his meals.

She had taken to Erich which surprised the family, as all previous caretakers had absolutely hated him and refused to be around him. This however, had brought her scorn from the rest of the household staff. The ridicule had started when she openly challenged them and called them down whenever they did a subtle insult or were blatantly disrespectful to the young lord. He was too young to understand the disrespect and hateful looks, but she could and she refused to stand for it.

Her food was delivered spoiled, she was mocked, sometimes openly, and she was more often than not isolated from the rest of the staff. Through it all though, she had remained steadfast in her devotion to the young Krieg nobility. It had gotten her Erichs undying devotion to her though. With so few people to care about, Erich was absolutely loyal to those who cared for him and he for them. Or at least as loyal as an eight year old can be.

Erich managed to get to his feet and just as he was regaining his balance, Elisha came from the side doorway where she had been watching the match. Erich tried to put on a show of not being hurt, but wasn't entirely successful. If Elisha noticed his discomfort or pain, she chose not to comment on it.

"Lord Erich, you did wonderful in your sparring match against your father," exclaimed Elisha as she crossed the short distance in the dull plascrete room. "I'm so proud of you." Erich puffed out his chest like a pleased rooster to the point where it seemed his loose fitting sparring clothing would rip apart.

Elisha was a pretty girl of average height, hazel eyes, and the trademark silver hair of a Shreider servant. She was for the most part cheerful and eternally attentive to the young lord or Krieg, showering him with affection that would have been considered excessive to anyone else on Krieg. Elisha was Erichs only real friend.

"I did what was expected of me," responded Erich as he rubbed the burnished silver bracelet that he was required to wear at all times, and trying not to show how pleased he was at the compliment. He wasn't told the exact reason why he needed to wear it, just that it was important

"You did," consented Elisha. "But I think that you've earned a little treat, don't you?" she said it offhandedly like it wasn't important, but had to suppress a smile as Erich perked up immediately. He really did like his candy.

"But I did poorly in my match, father wouldn't approve," said Erich eyeing the front pocket of Elishas maid outfit that held the promised candy. It was a black dress with a white apron on the front. She had white stockings that and small black dress shoes that was customary for all maids of the Von Shreider family and her hair nearly reached her buttocks and was held together with a loose blue ribbon down her back. She wore a frilly white undershirt under her dress. Her maid outfit was also capable of being environmentally sealed at any time. A mask hung down the front, in case of a containment breach in the Von Shreider manor.

"Well if we don't tell him he won't know, will he?" said Elisha a ghost of a smile upon her lips as she moved the candy around in her pocket so they clinked against each other. "It can just be our little secret, what do you say?" Erich was indecisive, but the thought of the ice berry candy in Elishas pocket was too much to pass up.

"Well I guess if father doesn't know, then he won't mind." said Erich his mind completely focused on the candy. Elisha produced a few ice berry candies and Erich greedily grabbed and ate them, the light blue candies becoming nothing but a memory. To act this way in front of anyone else would have been an embarrassment to his family, but with alone with Elisha it didn't matter. He held out his hand for more, but Elisha wagged a finger in front of his face.

"No, you'll spoil your supper," chastised Elisha putting the remaining candy away into the front pocket of her apron.

"No I won't," countered Erich trying to reach for more candy. Elisha swatted his hand away lightly.

"Yes you will, and then I'll get in trouble for giving you candy and then you'll get in trouble for taking it." Erich crossed his arms sullenly across his chest and pouted.

"Erich don't be like this, you know that having too much candy is bad for you anyways." Erich remained quiet and sullen.

"Come on Erich, it's time for supper now anyways and I know that you like roast pheasant. Chef Herndel has really outdone himself this time and I'm sure that you'll like it."

"What else is there going to be?" asked Erich still sullen.

"Well there's going to be fresh hydro beans, nutro vegetables, and potatoes with gravy. Doesn't that sound good?" said Elisha in a cheerful voice. "I know that I would be excited to have something like that, aren't you?"

"Can you eat with us tonight?" asked Erich hopefully. "I'm sure mother and father wouldn't mind if I asked politely." Elisha let out a sad smile.

"That's really sweet Erich, but you know that I'm not allowed to eat with the family, I have to eat with the other servants. We have our own meal to eat, and I wouldn't want to disappoint the other servants and not eat with them."

"But I want you to eat with us," complained Erich tugging on her dress. "Why can't you eat with us?"

"Well if I don't eat with the other servants, they'll miss me and get sad. I don't want them to get sad, because then I'd get sad too. You don't want me to be sad do you Erich?" asked Elisha looking down at Erich like a scholam teacher trying to get a disobedient student to admit their wrong doing.

"No," said Erich defeatedly.

"Then shall we go to supper lord Erich? We don't want it to be cold or your mother and father will be most upset with us." Erich wordlessly followed after Elisha as she led the way out of the training room and down corridors to the mess hall after he had donned his own environmental suit. The dark lenses and iconic sloped mask of Krieg upon his face. Elisha kept hers off.

They walked down the hallways only accompanied by the soft patter of their feet on the long red carpet that seemed to stretch down the middle of every hallway infinitely. On the outsides of the carpets was more dark grey plascrete. Even a family as rich as the Von Shreiders could scarce afford to have more than a few carpets or wood panelled flooring as it all had to be shipped in from off world since most all resources went to maintaining the Death Korps.

They passed several groups of house guards on their patrols of the Von Shreider estate. Their Matte black hell guns matched their dark carapace armour and greatcoats. They said a simple, "my lord," as they marched by in perfect step, guns held in ready grips in their hands. With the impassable gas masks, it was impossible to tell where they were looking behind those tinted eye pieces. Every house guard of the Von Shreiders was an active duty grenadier on loan from the Korps. They were the elite of the Korps and some of the best soldiers in the Imperium. They were men who had pledged their lives to the Emperor and had yet to die in his service.

As they neared the dining hall, Erich hesitantly reached out and took Elishas hand as they walked down the hallway as if he was doing something wrong and was afraid of being punished for it. She gripped his hand smiling down at him and began swinging their arms as they walked. This was another action that was discouraged amongst Kriegers, even amongst family. To show affection in such a way was to allow laxity and weakness into their lives. To give to yourself and not give all you could to the Imperium was looked down upon. Sometimes Erich was glad that Elisha was an off worlder.

They rounded a corner in a hallway that was lined with portraits of the former patriarchs and matriarchs of the Von Shreider family. To a man or woman, they all had stern expressions on their face and appeared to be in either very conservative dress or military uniform. The walls actually had a covering of wood in these hallways, which in itself marked its significance. There was gold etched in all the walls of the manor and rare gems, but to see wood spoke wealth above wealth in a world of metal and stone.

They were greeted by none other than Helena Von Shreider as they turned towards the dining hall as well as her personal hand maidens. There were four behind her, heads bowed and ready to do any task that she requested and tend to her every whim. Elisha stopped swinging Erichs arm and quickly let go of his hand and curtsied in a servile manner.

"My lady," she said bowing her head in the proper gesture of respect. Helena Von Shreider was the one and only wife of Hans Von Shreider which in itself was rare on Krieg where polygamy was a common practice since the demands of Krieg were so heavy on her sons. Helena was a woman with dark black hair and deep blue eyes. Even in her forties she looked stunning, long legs, full lips, and ample busom. Juvenant treatments helped too and kept her permanently looking like she was in her early thirties. She was wearing an earth brown silk evening dress that shimmered as it caught the light, and seemed to dance as she moved. She did not have a mask on which spoke of how secure she felt, and she seemed

to be glaring at Elisha, but it was hard to tell.

"Caretaker, I believe that I can take my son to dinner from here," said Helena in an aristocratic and moderated tone, displaying her highborn upbringing. She stood ramrod straight, and looked regal in her simple evening dress. "You have more than done your duty for the day."

"I'll take my leave then my lady, have a wonderful evening," Elisha curtsied again and turned to leave.

"Do you not have work to do that requires your attention caretaker? "

"No my lady, I have finished my tasks for the day."

"Well from what I hear, the kitchen staff could use help in cleaning. If you would go assist them, it would be most appreciated." Elisha curtsied a little more stiffly and held it just a fraction longer than was customary, doing it just a little too proper.

"At once your ladyship," said Elisha finishing her curtsy.

"Goodbye Elisha," said Erich waving goodbye.

"Caretaker," corrected Helena. She gave Elisha a cold look. "You may go to your duties now caretaker, and I will talk to you later on matters relating to your conduct." Helen turned on her heel and her handmaidens brought Erich with them, and fell into step behind Helena. Elisha watched them depart down the long hallway and enter through two great wooden double doors to the dining room. The doors were more for aesthetic than actual safety. In the event of an emergency a blast door would slam shut and protect the occupants inside. Just flaunting their wealth, thought Elisha hurrying toward the kitchen.

Elisha was mad. She was mad, because it was supposed to be her time off, her time to relax and unwind from the day. She was mad that she had, had to lie to Erich and say that her food would be just as good when it was little more than a tasteless watery gruel. The other servants would be sad if she didn't eat with them. Was that what she had told him? That was a bold faced lie, the other servants could care less about her and constantly made fun of her for serving the young 'freak lord' as they called Erich.

Then again, maybe it was better that she eat with them, she didn't feel like taking anymore ridicule on top of what came from serving the youngest Shreider.

Sure you got an uneasy feeling around him, but it was the same with all the other Kriegers. When you could hardly ever see their faces and they were so serious all the time and harsh it was natural to be uneasy around them. Even after two years, she still wasn't even nearly at ease around them. She was from Paladonia and it wasn't exactly a paradise world, but at least you could walk outside without choking to death on toxic air or die of radiation poisoning. Elisha tightened her fist in anger and quickened her pace.

What in Thrones name was Helena's problem anyways? Was she mad that she had actually shown some affection to her son and treated him like a kid instead of an object? How many of their kids had they lost anyways?

Nine? She had only been around for the last two deaths, but they hadn't even reacted at all. It was like they had been told that they were going to be late for a dinner party. These people were just cold to, well, everything. They didn't care if they lived, died, or anything in between. So their ancestors had rebelled. So what? Paladonia had rebelled three thousand years ago and all that caused was the inquisition to watch them more closely for a couple hundred years. Elisha sighed in frustration, now she had to get chewed out by the baroness. That wasn't going to be fun at all.

It wasn't even like she could just quit if she wanted. They owned her, literally owned her. They called her servant or caretaker, but in all reality she was a slave, just slightly better fed and clothed. Even if she could quit where would she go? She didn't have the money to get off world and if she did get freed, she would still have to live on Krieg. Elisha shuddered slightly at the thought.

Even as bad as it was at the Von Shreider Manor, it was still much safer and cleaner than the other habs in which people lived. They were underground like everything else in Krieg and much more prone to breaches or constantly cold with low light. She would have to live in her suit constantly like everyone else, hide behind a gas mask and black tinted lenses, always fearful of a toxic death. She didn't want that, she couldn't live like that.

Elisha idly twirled her hair as she walked. That was another thing they had taken from her, another piece of her identity. She had, had golden hair the colour of new grain, and now it was a metallic sheen like everything else around her. Not only that, but the gene treatment was aggressively dominant in traits so if she ever had kids there was a high probability of them having the same colour of hair as she did now. Forever marked as a Von Shreider servant. It wasn't just her they had bought, they even owned her unborn children. That thought made Elisha despair that even her children would be slaves, owned just like her.

Elisha struck the wall in her anger. "Stupid bitch, frakking highborn vat birthed whore!" Elisha covered her mouth with her hand and looked around. She hadn't meant to say it that loud, not to mention the string of profanities she had uttered. If anyone overheard what she had said about the baroness, saying that she was born in a cloning tank of all things. She shuddered at the repercussions, she didn't want to be a servitor.

Elisha did a mental shake and let go of her stress as much as she could. Dwelling on things that she couldn't change would just drive her crazy or as dour and depressed as everyone else here. She had to stay positive, the Emperor would provide, he always had.

Elisha finally found the kitchen and walked in. There were under-chefs, bus boys, and all sorts of kitchen staff milling around and doing their duties with quiet efficiency, with only low voiced questions asked once and a while from behind the Krieg masks that they all wore. These were all Krieg born and bred here, and the head chef Herndel gave her a quiet nod of acknowledgement before returning to preparing the desert. Herndel actually had a name and not a designation, which denoted him as being a Krieger of the civil sector and unbound to any family or organization. The smell of the food in the kitchen, real food made her stomach growl lowly. No one seemed to notice though and if they did they chose not to comment. The smell was enough to drive her crazy and make her mouth water. The longer she stayed in the kitchen the more she wanted to just stuff her face and damn the consequences.

Maybe that was why the kitchen staff wore their masks in here, so that they couldn't smell the food that they weren't allowed to have. Probably not though, Kriegers would die of thirst at a spring if ordered not to drink.

Elisha spent the next two hours doing any and all duties she could in the kitchen. From gathering ingredients from the store room to washing dishes. The kitchen was hot and cramped, causing her to sweat and improvise with the hair nets to have them cover her hair entirely. Sometimes it was cumbersome having so much hair, but it was the one thing that she could call hers and no one elses. Her work clothes were not made for the kitchen either, and everyone else was wearing lighter clothing or something that could cool itself like a bodyglove could. If lady Helena wanted to punish her by making her uncomfortable, then she should have just made her eat at dinner with her. That would be punishment enough if not for the excellent food.

Then again it might just be worth it for the food. That and Erich would be immensely happy that she was eating with them. Though they would never let a 'servant' eat with them. It would be scandalous in the extreme. Nobles, so obsessed with image thought Elisha ruefully.

Elisha cast a forlorn look at the food being taken out to the table. Maybe she could get Erich to sneak her some of his food sometime. Not a lot of course, just a taste. Enough to satisfy her hunger for good food. No, she didn't want him to get in trouble for her, and doing something like that could have her cast out of the family which would be one of the worst punishments of all. Or some other bizarre punishment, that she couldn't even think of. Also if she had some of the real food, she would just want more of what she couldn't have. Elisha huffed to herself, damned if she did and damned if she didn't.

Elisha only broke one plate during her work, but it had caused everyone to look and stare at her. It made her feel like she was under a microscope, like they were watching her every move and everything she said or did. Every word, every gesture, every errant twitch of her muscles. They would stare at her with those Emperor damned masks. They didn't say anything, didn't chastise her, didn't yell, didn't even groan. They would just eventually go back to work, with the oppressive silence becoming uncomfortable as well. The kitchen was far too hot for someone wearing what she was and she had felt faint several times, sweat running down her brow, swaying lightly on her feet. No one objected when she had sat down, breathing ragged and drinking from a cleaned cup. But Emperor did it feel like they disapproved.

By the time she was done, she was sweaty, tired, irritable, and had to get up in six hours. She left the kitchen and felt relief as she entered the cool corridor, the lights dimmed to simulate night. She was too tired to think, too tired to move, too tired to sleep. But she put one foot in front of the other and trudged down the hallway with leaden feet.

Only half aware of where she was going, she almost ran into one of the house guards the size of a small space marine. She fell back half a step and was too tired to even care.

"Excuse me," said Elisha wearily trying to step around the guard only for him to move and block her path again with his bulk.

"Caretaker Alpha six?" questioned the guard using her 'official' designation. He was wearing the dark armoured greatcoat and carapace armour of the house guard and his hellgun was slung over his shoulder. He looked down at her from his tinted black eyeglass pieces. His mask the colour of dull brass just like every other one she had ever seen worn of Krieg.

.

"Yes that's me," said Elisha annoyed at being called her designation and not her name. That was the one thing that she refused to let them take from her, she would always remember who she was.

"I have a message from her ladyship the baroness, I need to see your identification card." Elisha pulled out her ID card from an inner pocket of her dress, and handed it to the guard who put it into a hand held cogitator that whirred for a moment before beeping happily in recognition. Kriegers, always wanting to make exactly sure that they had the right person before doing anything.

"What is the message?" asked Elisha holding her right hand in her left in front of herself. She got her answer as the guard drove his fist hard into her solar plexus.

She felt the air leave her lungs as spittle flew from her mouth and she fell to the ground in a fetal position trying to recover her breath and protect herself from any other assault as well as trying to handle the pain coursing through her body. Elisha closed her eyes and awaited the ensuing beating that was sure to follow. The guard just stared down apathetically at her.

"The baroness wishes to inform you not to go outside your duties with Lord Erich. If you continue to do so, there will be a punishment for any future infraction. Have a good sleep Caretaker Alpha six." The guard tossed down her ID card and marched away to whatever task he was supposed to do next. Elisha managed to regain her breath and eventually sit up, nursing her hurt torso. Sometimes she absolutely hated working here. No, working was the wrong word. She hated being owned by this place. She hated the frakking baroness.

After getting to her feet, Elisha managed to begin walking to her room again nursing her sore torso, wanting nothing else then to just sleep and put the day to an end.

She walked down the hallway clutching around her solar plexus and made it to her room. She felt at ease in her little room that she had to herself. It was scarcely bigger than a prison cell, but it was hers. She let her hair down and changed into an old but comfortable white nightie. It still hurt where she had been hit, but it was fading. It was already forming an ugly bruise, but it was just a dull throb now. Alone at last the stress and tension of the day seemed to ooze out of her and she finally relaxed in the privacy of her room. Her feet felt great after taking off her shoes and she got into her single bed and had almost drifted off to sleep when there was a knock at her door.

With a groan she got up and opened the door. In the doorway were two house guards standing imposingly, filling the entire doorway and Elisha felt an intense wave of fear come over her. Had the baroness not had her fill of revenge on her? Had she sent these two here to rape her to take whatever dignity she had left? Elisha took a step backwards and prayed to the emperor for mercy and hoped he was listening.

"Caretaker Alpha six?" asked the one to her left in the same tone that all Krieg guardsman adopted. One of detachment and utter discipline. Elishas stomach hit the bottom of her feet.

"Y-yes," she croaked out shifting her eyes between the dark harbingers in the doorway. "How may be of assistance?"

"The Baroness Lady Helena has informed us that you are to provide the night guard shift with meals and caff. You are to report to the security centre by 2300hrs for your tasking. That is all." Seemingly on cue the two house guards turned and marched away in perfect timing. Elisha felt a sense of hopelessness come over her and she sat down on her bed and buried her face in her hands. Why was this happening to her? She felt like crying, but she didn't have the energy. She brought her knees up to her chest and stared at the wall. She had to get ready for her extra, extra duties, but for now she didn't want to move or do anything. Just sitting seemed like the best thing in the world to do right now.

There was another knock at the door, and it sounded to Elisha like the ringing of the bells of doom in Paladonian legend. She stared at the door and slowly walked over and opened the door expecting another form of punishment, but instead there was little Erich and the same feeling of unease that she felt when he was ever around. The feeling that he was just 'wrong' in some way that she had to get away from as fast as she could. Probably because if she messed up when being with him, she would get punished like she was being now.

He was standing in the doorway as if unsure if he should be here, because it was after his bedtime and technically he was breaking the rules by being here, which on Krieg was akin to murder.

"Lord Erich, what are you doing here? You know very well that it is past your bedtime," said Elisha trying to put on a cheerful demeanour only somewhat succeeding.

"Well I know that it is improper for me to be out of my bed at a time like this, and to visit a lady in her room uninvited, but I wanted to bring you something." Erich did the tiniest of movements betraying his nervousness.

"Well can I see what you brought me Lord Erich?" said Elisha keeping the pleasant demeanour. She didn't want to upset Erich, because of her problems, even if in a way he had caused them no matter how indirectly.

Erich hesitantly reached into the pocket of his miniature greatcoat and pulled out a handkerchief tied around a bundle and presented it to her. He was wearing his mask, so she couldn't tell what his expression was, but it seemed as if he was waiting for her approval. Even if he hadn't had his mask on, most Kriegers are schooled to control and hide their emotions so it wouldn't have mattered much anyways.

Elisha took the small bundle and opened it up and nearly dropped it in surprise. It was some of the roast pheasant from supper and Emperor it was still warm. Her mouth watered at the smell.

"I know you could not eat dinner with us, but I thought that you could have what we did and it would be like you were there." said Erich trying to be formal, but his adolescent voice making it impossible. Elisha couldn't believe it. He had snuck out food just for her. Erich Von Shreider, a noble of Krieg one of the most uptight and stern societies in the Imperium had broken the rules. He could have gotten in serious trouble especially for being out this late, but he had taken the risk. Elisha felt herself begin to cry. All the pent up emotion of the day finally finding a release point.

"Did I, did I do something wrong?" asked Erich. "I meant no offence, I just wanted to ummm make you happy." He shuffled from foot to foot. "I'm sorry, please don't be mad." Elisha wiped a few tears away.

"No, no, I'm just so happy it made me cry." said Elisha as she rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, clearing her face of the offending tears. Odd how such a simple act could make her cry.

"That doesn't make any sense," said Erich in a monotone voice. "Human beings only cry in times of extreme stress, or loss."

"I know, but it will when you're older and thank you." Elisha reached forwards and took off Erichs mask. He stiffened for a moment, but allowed her to take it off. For a Krieger to allow someone to take off their mask implied complete trust between them and the person. In a world where the air was toxic, the mask was almost as much part of them as their own beating heart. They had to feel completely safe before they would even consider taking it off. Eager to atone they may be, but no one wanted to die choking on poisonous gases. The mask came off, and was replaced by Erichs Steel coloured eyes and pale aristocratic features. Elisha leaned forward and gave him a small kiss on the forehead to which he blushed profusely. A Krieger he may be, but he was still a child.

"Thank you my little Erich," said Elisha giving him a hug which he awkwardly returned as if unsure what to do. As if he was merely copying her action and not understanding it. "Have a good sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"I will see you at 0600 caretak- Elisha, He corrected himself. He got the faintest of smiles in return.

"I do love you Erich, I hope you know that," said Elisha solemnly. For once Erichs stone hard set of features broke into a childlike look of utter confusion and he stared curiously for a moment before donning his mask and departing.

After Erich left, Elisha ate the meat he had brought her. Real meat, and Emperor was it good. The taste, the texture, it was worlds better than anything she had eaten since she had arrived here two years ago. After she finished and discarded any evidence of the food that she had eaten. Elisha went to the small shrine in her room and knelt down in front of it. She only said two words that were between her and the Emperor.

"Thank you." The Emperor acted in strange ways, but if he could he would help you. Even if he helped you under the name of Erich Von Shreider.

Over the next four years, the Von Shreider family carried on as it always had, except that no more death notices arrived. They didn't have enough children to continue sending them into the Korps. Lord Baron Von Shreider would leave for duty, sometimes for months at a time and return with a new campaign ribbon or trophy. He would come home silently like he had only left for the day and the original daily routine would continue. While he was away however, Her Ladyship Baroness Von Shreider was put in charge and would see to all matters of the house, education of her children and the financial matters of the Von Shreider estate.

On Krieg it is usually the eldest male who is placed in charge of a family, but it is not uncommon for the head of the family to be the eldest female. Indeed it is usually so on account of the life expectancy of the average Krieg male. The general practice of educating the young nobility of the Imperium more often than not falls to the Sister Soritas, or more commonly known as the sisters of battle. This was done for the purpose of inspiring loyalty from an early age in Imperial aristocrats and try to make them more pious. Another purpose was for them to act as a safeguard against corrupt nobles or those who would turn to the ruinous powers in hopes that they could kill the noble immediately after discovery, hopefully preventing a calamity.

When Hans Von Shreider was in his hall, the lessons would carry on as usual, taught by Sister Freya of the Coming Dawn Convent. It was a smaller convent which was part spiritual guide, part scholam instructor, and part warrior. A holy bolter was never far from Freya's reach, though she usually taught in russet robes with gold fleur de leis on the front. She was a woman in her late twenties, and one of the most devout people Erich had ever met. She was Erichs personal teacher and tutor. However, when Baron Von Shreider was away, extra lessons were taught after hours by a more elderly man under the supervision of Baroness Von Shreider. These lessons were far from Imperial dogma, and into the territory of what some might call... heretical.

"Now today's lesson is on the xeno species called the Eldar. Lord Erich, do you know what the Eldar are?" asked Metzger Frick, Erich's more elderly teacher. He looked like he was in his seventies without juvenant, but with it, it was impossible to say how old he really was. Like most people with wealth in the Imperium it was frustratingly hard to divine their true age without a well paid team of Adeptus Arbite investigators. Even then you were unlikely to find anything very useful.

He wore a dark brown robe, his bald head was wrinkled and his face pockmarked like Kriegs very surface. Smile, laughter, and age lines crisscrossed his face with patches of liver spots breaking the pale backdrop of his face. Despite his age, his voice was still vibrant and strong, ringing with a rich baritone that flowed like lacquered honey. His voice was moderated and he used it as well as any weapon with the skill of a master, having it rise and fall to give emphasis to points or to bring suspense in a lesson. Right now, he was using it to full effect and enthralling Erich with the lesson.

"They are a species of alien that look very similar to humans, and for that they are all the greater offence against the Emperor and the Imperium." answered Erich as he had been taught by Sister Freya.

Frick nodded his head sagely as if his answer was correct, but only part of the answer.

"That is true, but there is much more to them than their blasphemies. There is so much very more to them that you need to understand."

"But I thought that to understand the xeno was to lead to heresy?" questioned Erich confused at the conflicting messages from his two teachers.

"It is the path, but only for those who are not shown the way and stray too far from the Emperor. They are an abomination, but if we want to remove their ilk, we must understand where they are weak so we know where to strike. It is like taking on a Prickle Rat. They are covered in sharp spines and to attack their back would cause you grievous harm even if you did manage to kill it. But if you go after its soft stomach, it is much easier for you to kill. Does this make sense to you?"

"I think so," began Erich. "You're saying that we have to know enough about our enemy to know their weaknesses so our strikes can be more effective and not wasted effort."

"Exactly my lord, exactly. To know your foe is half the battle, the rest is simply defeating him."

"Can we get on with the lesson, and not waste time prattling on about Prickle Rats?" said Baroness Helena from the back of the study where Erich was being taught. The bookshelves were made of wood and lined with row upon row of books of history, philosophy, military stratagems, and Ecclesiarch writings.

The room smelled of old parchment and radiated a feeling of quiet contemplation and learning. A great wooden desk sat near the end of the study and was flanked by two great brass lamps with glow globes which showered a soft white light onto the desk and surrounding area. The family crest was wrought in polished silver below a solid gold and intricately carved Aquilla. It was a peaceful and warm feeling place, perfect for an evening of quiet reading or simple solitude. It was a rich library and was Baron Von Shreiders personal office. Plush chairs were spaced at odd intervals throughout the library accompanied by a small table and reading lamp. The majority of the room was in a low light, except for the area being used to teach.

"Of course my lady, I was merely trying to show the similarities between the two and importance of the lesson." said Frick as he bowed his head.

"I believe you've made your point, now please continue." said Helena impatiently, obviously wanting the important parts of the lesson to be discussed.

"At once my baroness." Frick turned back to Erich. "What else do you know about the Eldar?"

"They have pointy ears," ventured Erich to which Frick laughed.

"Indeed they do, beyond physical characteristics though, do you know who they are? Are they smart, dumb, Fast, slow? Are they advanced or neanderthal in their technology?" Pressed Frick.

"Well, I know they are a space faring race, and I know that they are much faster than the average human. So I guess they have some intelligence and they are agile." said Erich feeling uneasy discussing xenos in his fathers place of solitude, his inner sanctum.

"Indeed, indeed they are," answered Frick excitedly. "What else do you know about them?"

"Well they're tall, and beyond that I know nothing but their treachery." finished Erich. Frick sighed as if disappointed at the extent of Erichs knowledge on the subject.

"Lord Erich, do you know what a psyker is?" Frick said in little more than a whisper, causing Erich to strain to listen to every word intently. Without waiting for Erich to respond Frick continued. "Every Eldar to a greater or lesser degree is able to use the warp, or is psychic to some extent."

"Heresy," spat out Erich in pious rage. To be a psyker was a crime against the Emperor and to be cursed with the touch of the warp. Since birth every member of the Imperium is taught to hate hand revile psykers for their unnatural abilities.

"Indeed it is," said Frick. "That is part of what makes them so vile. They have based everything off of their psychic abilities from weapons to their everyday lives. In fact, when they die, they store their souls in psychic constructs."

"What are these constructs?" asked Erich modulating his tone, but burning with righteous fury. Though a small part at the back of his mind had perked up at this news. A part of himself that wanted to learn everything he possibly could about these enigmatic Eldar. It was a infinitesimally small part of him though, and easily repressed.

"Well they are call-."

"I believe that we can skip that portion of the lesson," cut in Helena. "Just stick with how they live and fight."

"But my lady, this is a vital part of Eldar society. To skip this part of the lesson is to deny the most important fact about the Eldar to be known. The very reason why they act as they do. The very basis of their life. I might as well say they are just xenos and be done with it." Protested Frick.

"It is irrelevant in the grand scheme of the teaching," said Helena brushing off his protests like dust from an old coat.

"But my lady!" said Frick aghast, colour rising in his cheeks and raising his voice to one of firm opposition.

"Are you questioning my judgement scholam instructor Frick?" asked Helena, with ice in her voice. It was clear without saying anything that any further argument would not be tolerated and would be punished severely.

"No my lady, I forgot my place."

"Very well, continue with the lesson. I am not housing you merely to prattle on with your idle chatter."

"As you wish my lady," answered Frick subdued.

The rest of the lesson continued on without hindrance, the time on the chronometer ticking by unchecked as the lesson carried on into areas that could have everyone in the manse killed to keep the secrets by the inquisition. In fact some of the Material covered was only supposed to exist sequestered in the most secure vaults of the inquisition.

Erich was told of the fall, the birth of a dark god, and how the Eldar's hedonistic ways were what had led to their own demise. He learned that the Eldar could potentially live for thousands of years. Longer than any mortal had the right to live. Only the Emperor was eternal, only he should last forever.

Erich learned of craftworlds, gigantic planet sized space stations that housed billions of Eldar and could travel as fast as any ship. He learned how the Eldar used bonesingers and wraithbone to construct everything that they needed. That in combat they were stunningly fast and skilled. He learned enough to be called a heretic. The knowledge he was learning was guarded jealously by many and was thought that the Imperial citizen should not know. Erich knew though, and he wanted to learn more.

Frick was in full flow of the lesson explaining the old Eldar gods, when Baroness Helena cut him off, mid tirade. He stopped with his arms outstretched and a surprised look on his face, like he couldn't believe the lesson had been ended so abruptly.

"I believe that is enough for today Mr. Frick, It is time for Erich to practice his swordplay for the day and I know his father would be most displeased if he missed his practice."

"But there is so much more to learn," Frick almost pleaded. "The history, the culture, the grandeur of what once was."

"And there is always tomorrow, be thankful that you are still teaching, much less for a noble house of such standing like mine."

"Of course baroness, sometimes I forget myself when passing on knowledge. I promise you that it won't happen again," said Frick his aged face morphing into an apologetic look with yet more wrinkles.

"See that it doesn't." Helena said harshly, her face set in a look of distaste at the old mans disobedience. Her features softened as she turned to Erich. "Erich, please proceed to your next lesson, I will be along shortly." She spoke in a gentle voice seldom heard by any, even those inside her family.

"Of course mother," said Erich obediently rising to go. His chair scraped on the thin waxed mahogany flooring underneath his feet as if to announce his departure.

"I know that you will exceed all expectations dear," said Helena as Erich gathered his things. "After all, you are my son," she said showing more affection than would seem necessary by Krieg standards, indeed this would seem as almost coddling. Erich seemed to stand a little taller at the praise, as if he had just had an instantaneous growth spurt.

"You will not be disappointed mother, I guarantee it." Promised Erich with a gentlemanly bow, eager to prove that he was turning into a fine gentleman in all regards. He hurried off the the fencing arena, quickly grabbing his things. He walked quietly through the halls, and past a wall that displayed captured weapons and standards. Some were of traitorous human flags who had turned their back on the Emperor, while others yet were from strange and vile xeno species. Their standards ripped and torn in places obviously taken in battle from hands unable to hold onto them any longer. Erich stopped and inspected a crude banner more closely.

It was made of unpurified iron and over four metres in height. An ogrish face painted in white dominated the centre, crudely painted over the material. Orks. He had learned of them like every other citizen of the Imperium, but more in depth per say. Frick was a very good and enthusiastic teacher of all thing having to do outside of the Imperium. He had learned the truth of them and the misleading answers or outright lies told to the rest of the Imperium.

For example it was taught that if you shouted at orks they would run away screaming in terror. The truth was actually the exact opposite, orks liked screaming and yelling and would more than likely make them attack you all the more thinking that you wanted to fight. Orks lived to fight and could not be reasoned with. It was like trying to reason with a gatorbane. You could talk all you wished, but in the end it would still tear you apart.

It was, because of the savagery of creatures like the orks that the guard was necessary. Xenos were creatures unable to coexist with humanity for their vile treachery knew no bounds and if humanity lowered its guard for even a moment, they would be torn asunder by the evil of the galaxy that were xenos.

The Von Shreider Manor is an absolutely massive estate encompassing a total of eight kilometres cubed of space. It housed nearly a small city and at any given time a regiment of the Death Korps was present in the lower levels. The hallways twisted and wound their way through the confusing catacombs of the Shreider manor and many visiting nobles had been hopelessly lost and hysterical by the time a calm Korpsman or house servant found them and returned them to the festivities in the main hall. After making them presentable to preserve their dignity of course. Erich however, had been born and raised in the confusing underground tunnels of Krieg and had developed an innate sense of direction that all Kriegers develop, so it was child's play to take a shortcut through a side passage to cut time off of his journey to the training room.

Erich exited silently out of a side passage and hurried down a marbelled hallway, his footsteps muffled by the heavy red carpet that cut a narrow strip down the hallway and despite the rigorous cleaning always seemed slightly dirty. Being underground, everything in the Von Shreider manor would soon have a light coating of dust or dirt on it in a matter of hours. The cleaning staff, were forever dusting and sweeping.

He heard a light giggle and some subdued talking around the corner on the way to the training room, so he went to investigate the source of the noise, curious as to who was making it.

He saw Elisha and Freya talking in low tones down a side hallway and Elisha would occasionally giggle to something that Freya said. This was unusual, usually Elisha was already at the training room waiting for him. Also Freya was usually praying in one of the templums scattered throughout the Von Shreider manse or giving a service herself. As to what they were doing in a side passageway in the evening was beyond him.

Erich got his answer as Freya gingerly cupped Elisha's jaw as if fearful of rejection and kissed her. Rather than being surprised, Elisha returned it in kind, wrapping her arms around Freya and deepening it, moaning softly.

"Caretaker," called out Erich to Elisha down the hallway.

Elisha jumped like a startled rabbit and tore away quickly from Freya looking down the hallway with wide eyes and her hair flaring at the sudden rapid movement of her head. She stood stiff as a board for a moment before seeing that it was Erich and she relaxed.

"Lord Erich, you startled me just then. Is it time for your fencing classes already?" questioned Elisha looking at her wrist chronometer quickly and blushing red, she gave a nervous laugh. "You sound more and more like your father everyday."

"Yes it is, I was just on my way there now, but seeing as you are here could you accompany me to the training room? Mother would be most displeased if I arrived before you did." said Erich walking towards Elisha. In the past four years he had grown a good deal and now stood level with Elisha in height, while the only part of Elisha that had grown was her hair which now descended past her buttocks.

"Yes I believe I will, goodbye Sister Freya Emperor guide you," said Elisha ushering Erich away towards the training room.

"Emperor go with you too Caretaker Elisha," returned Freya. She seemed to hesitate for a second before speaking again. "Caretaker, the silver," Freya paused for a moment as if unsure whether to continue. "Does it extend the entire way down?" Elisha gave a coy smile over her shoulder.

"Why sister Freya, if you would grace me with your presence tonight I will show you the complete extent of the silver," said Elisha drawing out the word silver and smiling showing her white teeth.

"Very well, I will see you later tonight then caretaker." said Freya seeming flushed for a moment.

"I look forward to it sister." With that Elisha hurried Erich away so that he would not be late. As they were travelling down yet another hallway, regular stone this time Erich decided to ask about the encounter he had walked in on.

"Elisha, why were you kissing sister Freya? I thought that the sororitas were chaste." Elisha picked up the end of her hair and played with it while she answered.

"Well this is a little too mature for someone of your age, but no sororitas are not chaste, they just don't go looking for partners. Also most people don't spend enough time around them to discover the fact that they aren't or get to know them so most people just assume that they are." said Elisha trying to put an end to the conversation.

"But fraternization of that kind is forbidden between the staff of the Shreider Estate. Not only that, but she is a girl. Two standard years ago, I saw you with sergeant gamma of the house guard. Why the discrepancy?" Elisha fingered her hair as she tried to find a way to explain the situation

"Well Erich, most people like the opposite gender, like your mother and father. They are a man and a woman and they like each other right?"

"That is correct."

"Well there are also some people who like people of the same gender, and it is perfectly normal for there to be people like that. Me, well I ummm, oh how do I say this? I like both, so yes I was with sergeant Schmidt, but now I am with Sister Freya. I like both equally well and to me it doesn't seem strange to be with either of them, as long as I love them. Does this make sense at all to you?"

"I think I understand it, it is just preference correct? Like whether you like using a las rifle or a sword more. There is nothing wrong with either weapon, you just use what is more natural to you." said Erich putting it in terms he could understand more easily. Elisha nodded in approval.

"That is exactly right Erich, I'm glad you understand this and don't think it's wrong or goes against the natural order of things like some people I've met."

"As long as people are loyal to the Emperor trifle things like that matter not," intoned Erich. Elisha patted him on the head in approval.

"That's right, and I think I have a little treat for you for being such an open minded young man," said Elisha pulling out a few blue ice berry candies and clinking them together in her hand.

"But I am not supposed to eat sweets before physical training, it is looked down upon. Mother has made it most clear to me that I am not allowed to." said Erich sounding much too firm for one of his age. "It would not be proper," he said with finality.

"Well then I guess I will just have to eat them myself," said Elisha bringing the candy to her mouth and eyeing Erich expectantly. She held it in front of her face, mouth open like she was just waiting to pop the candy in. She didn't have to wait long, in a very ungentlemanly fashion, Erich grabbed the candies and slipped them under his mask, chewing hurriedly. Elisha suppressed a smile at his childish act, despite his seemingly cold demeanour.

"I still have to tell mother about your infraction though, for it goes against the rules and I cannot allow that." Elisha's face fell at the announcement. If she was ever caught breaking that rule, there would be a severe punishment, and she wasn't exactly the Baronesses favourite.

"Would an ice berry candy fix that?" asked Elisha producing another handful of candy and shaking them in her hand. Despite them being Erichs favourite candy, he refused to budge.

"No, I have been told to report it, and I will." said Erich flatly, his Krieg upbringing showing itself in full force. His need to follow the rules bordering on obsessive that all Kriegers possessed in their psyche.

"Could you keep it a secret just for me though? Just between the two of us." asked Elisha playing to her favoured spot with Erich. It had helped her get out of a lot of trouble in the past, by having Erich cover for her. Who had given him that candy? Why he had found it just lying around in a storeroom. Why had Elisha gone into town for the day without telling anyone and bought new clothes? Well lord Erich had wanted to go for a walk in the hive and had consented to his caretaker buying new clothes to look her best at formal occasions where even the servants were expected to be in acceptable finery and not the servants uniform.

Why was she not with Erich to take him to his lessons in the morning?(Elisha's chronometer had broken and she had overslept by several hours, which had almost made her have a heart attack when she realized the time.) Why her presence had distracted him so he had sent her away for a short time. Elisha could get away with anything short of murder as long as Erich would cover for her. There was perks to being the favourite of an heir to one of the noblest and richest families on Krieg.

"But, I have been told that I need to tell mother of any infractions no matter who by," Erich defended weakly. It was the same every time, he would site the reasons why he had to do his duty then he would crumble in face of Elisha's pleas.

"Please?" prodded Elisha. "It would mean a lot to me if you didn't say anything, and I would be very grateful."

"Well I," continued Erich unsure of what to do, torn between his need to follow the rules and help one of the people he truly cared about and cared about him.

"Please my little Erich," said Elisha sweetly, pulling out all the stops and taking his hands in hers. That did it in an instant, cracking Erich's Krieg upbringing like cheap glass.

"Well I suppose that one infraction more or less won't make much of a difference and it would just conflict with your duties causing more harm than good. I do not want you to get in trouble for this, so I will not tell mother of this, you have my word," promised Erich. Elisha knew that she was in the clear now. If a Krieger gave you his word, it was better than a signed document. Years of teaching that truth is the most important, right next to faith in the Emperor meant that if a Krieger gave his or her word on something they would sooner die than go against it, no matter what difficulties that would entail. They would follow it till the end or were released from their bond.

"Thank you Erich, that means a lot to me."

"It was nothing, I simply making your duties easier to perform. Just don't do it again," chastised Erich trying to sound official, but floundering.

"Oh don't worry Erich, you won't catch me doing anything like this again," promised Elissa Mischievously.

"I'm glad to hear it," said Erich completely oblivious as to the intended meaning of Elissa's words.

"So Erich do you have a little sweetheart that you fancy?" prodded Elisha.

"Wh-what? No! I-it is improper, mother would, I would, I am not supposed to!" sputtered Erich at the unexpected question. "I am to have a bride chosen when I am the proper age, and strengthen the bonds between the Shreiders and another noble family."

"Oh really? Well what about that cute little stable girl I always see you looking at whenever you have your riding lessons?"

"Serena simply helps me get my horse saddled and groomed, nothing more."

"Oh so this Serena has a name does she?" said Elisha laughter on her lips. "I just hope that you don't sneak off with her sometime, that would be quite the scandal don't you think? I wonder what your mother would have to say about all of this?" Elisha put a finger to her chin thoughtfully.

"No, no, no, don't tell mother. She would be quite angry that I fancy a servant," pleaded Erich.

"Oh, so you do like her don't you young master Erich," said Elisha holding in her laughter at his anxiety about his mother finding out about his crush. He needn't worry though, she wouldn't tell the baroness that the Emperor was off the throne if she could help it.

"Well I, yes I do," said Erich eyes downcast. "Are you going to tell mother?"

"Well you kept quiet for me, so I will keep quiet for you. On one condition though."

"Name it."

Elisha held out a handful of candy.

"That you take another iceberry candy and I won't take no for an answer."

They continued down the hallway lit by bright white lumo globes, and followed the path down to the training room. They entered through large double doors made of adamantium and the family crest emblazoned on the door frame, carved from the very metal it rode. It was that of a roaring dragon with its tail wrapped around an Aquilla. It was symbolic in the way that the Von Shreiders would defend the Imperium with their very lives if necessary. They would challenge all of the Emperors foes and be as ferocious and indomitable as the dragon on their crest. It was a sacred duty that all Shreiders had to live up to.

The doors parted and they were admitted by two house guards with hellguns and matte black carapace armour. The doors swung inwards silently on well oiled hinges and admitted them into the family training room.

It had a high vaulted ceiling that disappeared into blackness, with Gothic style arches rising into the abyss and columns holding up the roof. Litanies of faith, fortitude, and strength were carved into the columns, spiralling up the sides of the pillars, reaching as high as the invisible ceiling. Murals hung around the room showing famous, deceased members of the Von Shreider family. There were space marines, generals, admirals, courageous soldiers who were the pivot on which a campaign was won. Daemon slayers, witch hunters, and so many more whose deeds were catalogued in the family archive and had earned them redemption through service.

Elisha went and stood off to the side as Erich donned his fencing apparel and withdrew a monomolecular sword, spinning it expertly and switching it effortlessly between his ambidextrous hands. He did figure eights, parries, slashes, lunges, and stabs with an easy grace. His warmup was fluid and flawless, light years ahead of where he should be at his age. Erich had taken after his father in the way of the blade and was a prodigy with the sword, seeming to learn any move easily and use them with near inhuman grace and dexterity. Erich was fast approaching the point where the only one who would be able to train him would be his father, the blade master of Krieg himself.

Not only that, but he was hitting his growth spurts and it wouldn't be long before he could put a lot more power behind his blows, he could already look her in the eye and it unnerved her slightly. When he had been eight, Elisha hadn't believed him when he had said she couldn't actually physically punish him, even if she wanted to. She had held his arms to show him that she was indeed strong enough, only to be forced to the ground an arm behind her back in a painful lock.

She had refused to talk to him for a day after that and he had never done it again. To be honest it had made her slightly fearful to know that even so young, he could kill her if he ever so chose to. A child shouldn't be able to do that. Erich was fast approaching adulthood though, on Krieg you became a full fledged adult at the age of fifteen and one live member of a family had to serve in the Korps.

She didn't want Erich to go into the Korps, it was worse than a death sentence. Krieg regiments routinely requested to be given the toughest and most difficult assignments on the deadliest worlds. Taking on foes that Imperial Command had deemed too hazardous for assault without severe loss of life. He was strong and skilled, of that she had no doubt, but on the battlefield all it took was one stray shot. Only one.

Even as she worried for Erich, she worried for her own future, with Erich approaching fast approaching adulthood she would soon be useless to the baroness. She was only kept on so the baroness didn't have to raise her son herself and once he was fifteen, Elisha wouldn't be necessary anymore. The baroness hated her, and there was no one who really wanted her to stay, having made so many enemies in her time here.

She looked at Erich again, finishing his warmup. Maybe there was someone who wanted to have her stay. Erich was starting to use his title and power more frequently, understanding the subtle insults and gibes a little better. Now the other servants couldn't mock him openly without punishment. If they did it to Elisha, it was some of the few times that she had seen him get angry. He had threatened butler 56 with lobotomy if he so much as heard him make an unkind remark to her again. Needless to say no one picked on her anymore, but she could feel resentment sitting just below the surface sometimes.

She cared for him like her own son, and if anyone wanted her to stay it was him.

She watched him swing the razor edged sword through the air slashing an imaginary enemy here, beheading another there.

Elisha wondered why it was necessary for such a young boy to have to learn how to kill from such a young age. Hadn't they lost enough children? Elisha watched as Erich entered the arena with his instructor who was also armed with a monomolecular sword. No dull swords in these practices, it was all real. There was no illusion of combat, for on Krieg they didn't believe mock combat was worth anything. The Death Korps had the highest rate of training accidents in any guard regiment of the Imperium. Save of course for the 'accidents' that befell the commissars of the Catachan regiments.

Erich stood at the other end of one of the many small fencing circles and faced his instructor, sword drawn and shimmering in the dim light of the sparing room. They faced each other, studying the others stance and As if by unspoken consent the two combatants rushed towards each other the swords screamed shrilly through the air towards each other.

The sword fell and Gottandammerung cleaved through another heretical soldier on Perexis V. It cleaved the traitor in half cutting through flak armour, las rifle, flesh and bone as if it was no more than air. Blood hissed and spat as it was turned to steam by the passing swing of Gottandammerung. The heretic fell in two, but before the to halves had even his the ground, Gottandammerung had already claimed four more, with graceful strokes and ripostes. Eagerly ending the lives of the heretics

A traitor guardsman ran at Lord General Hans Von Shreider bayonet raised and foul obscenities issuing from his mouth against the Imperium. For his trouble, a bolt round from Deliverance removed his head from his shoulders in a gory spray or bone, blood and brain matter. He hit the ground with a dull thud mere feet from the Lord General of Krieg. Atop a pile of burning rubble, Hans Von Shreider was surrounded by dead heretics. The sky was choked black and red by the breath of war, the booming of heavy guns filled the distance like an approaching storm. He appeared to all as an herald of the end times. In master artificer crafted carapace armour of black and grey with a golden snarling dragon emblazoned on the front. His Generals helmet lined with gold braid and Crimson, a black plume running the length of it like the helmet of some dark lord and golden epaulettes with crimson lining on his shoulders. Grinning silver skulls of the famed Krieg grenadiers adorned his lapels as well as a voluminous greatcoat opened fully adorned his shoulders billowing in the wind. His mask hiding his features and turning him into a true weapon of the Emperor. Faceless, nameless, and merciless. The motto of the Death Korps personified.

Another section of traitors attacked the lord general, ten in all. It was an unfair fight and the odds laughable. They should have brought more men. With three long loping strides, Hans leapt into their midst, Gottandammerung swinging. Two were killed in the first stroke, and another with a follow through stab as he twirled through them. They fell in pieces, smoking where Gottandammerung had ended them. Deliverance barked twice as he spun exploding the torsos of another two traitors in a gory display of blood and viscera. In under two seconds, half the section had died. One traitor opened fire, missing as Hans dodged, the blood red shots missing by a hairsbreadth. He gutted the surprised traitor guardsman from stomach to shoulder in an elegant upward slash, then ended two more lives as they struggled to draw a bead on the blade master in their midst.

One of the remaining traitors tried to drive her bayonet through Hans back, but a powerful backwards kick flung her backwards and out of the way for a moment. The last traitor died firing his lasgun, but was unable to hit the Lord General. For his failure, he was run through with the ancient power sword ending his life in a flawless thrust. He withdrew Gottandammerung, and spun it in his hand as the traitor fell dead. It was more a habit than anything else to spin his sword, it didn't serve any real value, but a light display as the trail of spent energy followed in Gottandammerungs wake. The cocking of a stub pistol was all the warning that Hans got of the impending danger.

With a loud bang, a projective was launched at lethal speeds towards him. Hans brought Gottandammerung around in a downwards horizontal slash as he turned, neatly bisecting the bullet and deflecting it. The horrified traitor stared disbelievingly as she loosed five more shots in quick succession that were either batted aside like annoying gnats or avoided entirely by impossibly quick movements. A series of clicks followed as the stub revolver clicked empty, held in a white knuckled grip by the terrified traitor. Hans slowly walked through the gravel, boots crunching, his power sword almost seeming contemplative as it hissed through the air as if deciding whether or not to claim another victim. Deliverance, the shiny black bolt pistol with gold Gothic inscriptions traversing the length of the barrel, was held loosely at his side, waiting patiently to be used.

"Stay back daemon!" cried out the traitor scrambling back across the debris and making a horrified noise as she placed her hand in the still warm innards of her dead comrade. "The Emperor protects against creatures like you!"

"The Emperor?" questioned Hans in an almost curious tone as if he couldn't believe a heretic would dare to venerate the Emperor. "The Emperor has sent us to act as his will to smite those who have turned against him and his Imperium. You are a traitor and a heretic, your words no longer hold weight in this life, and now I will do you the honour of ending it." He brought his own sidearm up.

"No don't!"

Deliverance barked once loudly, drowning out the protests of the traitor and redeeming her in death. Hans looked at the assembled dead men and women around him, traitors all. But then again was he much different?

The Imperium was very clear on what to do with those with psychic talent or who could affect the warp in any way. The adminastratum or Ecclesiarchy were to be notified immediately and then the black ships would take them away, taking them in and turning them into astropaths, sanctioned psykers, or some other safe use for them. To shelter them was heresy, an act against him on the holy throne. It was duty, that forced parents to give their children up for service, but it was love that made Hans Von Shreider, Lord General of Krieg and thirty eighth patriarch of one of the noblest and oldest families keep his. Erich wasn't a psyker, not exactly.

Whether it was the death of most of his children, or his long life Hans just couldn't bare to lose another one of his children. Early in his career he would have called the blackships immediately, but getting older, he had begun to question the need for so much death, so much sacrifice. Could they not serve the Emperor better by living? Fighting and staying alive, instead of dying in pointless last stands? Restoring their world to its former glory. It was not beyond Imperial ability, just costly and too time consuming to be thought worth the effort for most planets. Hans loved the Imperium and the Emperor with every fibre of his being, but he could not lose another child.

Most people think Kriegers to be cold and emotionless, and while to an extent they are they still feel all the emotions of regular human beings. They just keep them hidden behind a mask, both literal and figurative. They discourage them, but they still exist. Hans had worked with the inquisition before and knew just how much they prized psykers. Many inquisitors were indeed psychically skilled themselves. There was one thing that they valued more though. Something that Ordo Malleous especially would literally kill to get their hands on. An untouchable.

They were extremely rare, but they existed. Their very presence nullified the warp and made all the witches and daemons in the Imperium as helpless as newborn babes without their powers. They turned the mightiest of sorcerers into fools waving their arms futilely. However this came at a cost to the untouchable themselves. Untouchables are reviled by the rest of humanity. People cannot stand to be in their presence, and everything they do irritates people beyond what it would normally be. Most died, killed by a deep seated hatred that even the perpetrator of the crime could not quite understand much less explain other than they just hadn't liked the person. It was possible to live with, like, and even love an untouchable, but it was oh so very hard. For sheltering his untouchable son, Hans was a traitor.

He didn't view himself as a traitor though. He was a devout Emperor fearing man, he had served long in his name killing his enemies, and nine of his children had died to defend his Imperium. Surely the Emperor would forgive him this one indiscretion. Surely he would understand his desire to keep the rest of his children alive to live as happy a life as they could.

He could not actually manipulate the warp, so it wasn't like he was putting anyone in danger by keeping him. The one problem being though just as psykers are measured in terms of power by being put in classes, so too were untouchables. His son, was an equivalent of an alpha plus. If he removed the bracelet which contained his untouchable qualities, psychic activity for five miles around would cease to operate. No matter the strength of the user.

Hans looked out upon the city that high command had ordered him to take for turning against the Imperial fold and declaring independence. The fact that they still worshipped the Emperor their one redeeming quality.

The hive of Aegis was aflame and the tall hive spires having lost the top hundred floors of their construction. Black armoured Kriegers advanced through the city, supported by the rumbling of Leman Russ main battle tanks, and Medusa siege mortars. The reason as to why the hive world of Perexis V had rebelled was irrelevant, the only thing that mattered was that they would pay for their heresy. No matter how they sought to plead for forgiveness for their treachery, it wall fall on deaf ears for the sons of Krieg would not listen.

There were other guard regiments attacking too. Trupour mechanized, Paladonian dragoons, and heavy knights on horseback. Armed with monomolecular swords, chainswords, explosive lances, and las carbines they acted as fast attack and were devastating to enemy infantry. Archillian motorized foot, which was currently fighting for control of the skyway bridges that connected the hive spires, and the slow grinding force that was Krieg, providing the heavy booming of guns with their siege artillery and main force behind the advance.

A wave of Vulture gunships passed overhead heading further into the hive. Hans became alert with the sound of heavy boots crunching debris behind him, a company of Krieg Grenadiers making it to their General. With a quiet nod of acknowledgement they pushed further into the hive, rallying guardsman of different regiments to their assault until they had a force to be reckoned with and the Lord General leading. The streets were strewn with rubble and slapped together barricades that had already fallen, the bodies of the defenders and attackers alike strewn around a position that no longer mattered. Only the colours of their uniforms being able to distinguish between the two.

The air was thick was dust and the stench of death that mixed with the smells of the burst sewage veins and unwashed bodies. It made some of the men from other regiments gag, while the Kriegers were fine behind their masks. The worst that the desolation and polluted air could do to them was make them homesick.

The broken hive spires rose like rotten trees in a diseased forest, casting strange shadows and uneven light, causing the men to see things at the edge of their vision and jump at shadows. The men were understandably nervous, they had met no further resistance and they were advancing through what should have been the heartland of the enemy.

They eventually found them, just not in the way that they had expected to, they were already dead. Ripped apart by bolter fire and chainsword, the traitorous soldiers were strewn around their positions as if tossed about at random. The guardsmen took up positions in the square where the dead traitors were, looking for information as to who killed them. The square was filled with all manner of debris, and a light layer of smoke held sway over the area.

A cracked fountain of Saint Kleer pouring water out of a jug onto the outstretched hands of the faithful was broken and crumbled. Arms still outstretched missing both the hands and the jug, the faithful destroyed by a mixture of bolter fire and lasgun. The symbolism was almost ironic.

They checked over the broken and tattered bodies of the traitors, clad in torn flak armour and las guns clutched in death-grips or shattered along with their bodies. Not all were dead though, sharp lasgun reports pinpointed survivors.

"Captain," said Hans just loud enough to be heard. He was resting his hand on the pommel of Gottandammerung as he said it. It was a fine sword, the blade a little over a metre long and slightly curved. The handle was mother of pearl white and made from some sort of material that never wore out and allowed you to keep a sure grip while still having great flexibility with it. Winding gold filigree made its way up the handle, snaking around it in intricate loops. The captain of the Krieg Grenadiers ran up to him at a moderate trot and stopped a respectful distance away.

"Your will my lord," he greeted standing at parade ground attention.

"I need you to bring me a survivor if at all possible, I need to determine the identity of these traitors adversaries. If they are allies we need not worry, if they are not, we must be vigilant."

To a normal Imperial citizen, having someone talk to you face to face while staring into an emotionless mask would be very disconcerting. To a man born and raised on Krieg it was actually quite settling. A little taste of their irradiated home.

"At once my lord," replied the captain obediently rushing off and shouting orders for the guardsmen to cease fire. The las fire stopped as if some one had thrown a switch and shut off the power to their guns. Hans watched emotionless as survivors were drug towards him in front of the statue of the saint. He wasn't going to move towards them and a little symbolism would be good for them. Standing at six and a half feet tall, Hans was a very imposing figure in his armour, especially the Death Korps armour.

Six survivors were drug towards him all with various wounds and in different stages of dying. Four men and two women made up the survivors of the slaughter in the square, a seventh had been taken as well, but he hadn't survived his wounds or the trip to the fountain. A red trail marked his passage from beginning to end. He surveyed the traitors before him. It was as diverse as it was bloody.

An old grizzled sergeant with a self cauterized arm where it had been sheared at the shoulder leaving him pail and shaky but defiant. It looked as if he had either used his lasgun or a piece of red hot metal to do the job.

A young recruit who looked like this was his first action with blood caked around a head wound and dozens of smaller shrapnel wounds peppered his body and absolutely terrified. A middle aged man fading in and out of consciousness from a wound to the chest and he would occasionally choke up blood. A loud report from Deliverance ended his life and his suffering. It caused the others to jump, but none dared curse him for fear of being his next victim. Of the five survivors, the remaining three looked the most promising in terms of breaking or leverage for breaking another. Perhaps the young man if they were lovers. A young girl barely out of her teens seemed to be the least wounded of all with a broken leg, but still seemed in extreme pain and completely terrified just like the young man to her left.. A matronly woman swathed with bandages and a medicae patch on her arm tended to her. Hans could have had her restrained and stopped, but there was no reason to.

Let them think that they were safe. If he let them get treated than obviously he wanted them alive, the first death was just to inspire fear. He was going to die anyways and that was why he had chosen him. They would believe what they needed to for their spirits to keep up. The last member of the survivors appeared to be an officer. He had discarded any rank insignia, but had forgotten one simple little thing that most people never thought of. His boots. They were of finer quality than standard issue flak combat boots and looked much more comfortable, possibly even custom made. Best to start with the enlisted first though, so he would know what would happen if he refused to cooperate. If he cared for his soldiers enough he would break and tell them what they needed to know. If he cared nothing for them, but valued his own life he would speak to save his own skin.

He walked around them slowly, his grenadiers forming a cordon around the survivors, hellguns at the ready, waiting for a signal to open fire.

Hans wasn't a professional interrogator, but he was a leader of men and having dealt with regiments needing more care, he understood that violence wasn't always the way to get what you wanted. You wanted to try a panoply of different tactics to get the best results. He started with the old sergeant, the hardest one to break.

"Sergeant, what is your name?"

"Frak off you masked freak," spat out the sergeant defiantly. "I ain't telling you grox shit." He was shaky with pain, but defiant. A pity really.

"That is no way to speak to an officer sergeant, are you just being defiant or is the extent of the discipline on this planet?" The sergeant just grunted.

Hans crouched down so that his mask was level with his face. He spoke in a low tone that none of the others would overhear.

"I have no doubt that you hate me and would be perfectly willing to die just to spit in my face, but are willing to let your troopers die? If you don't tell me what I want to know, I am perfectly content to make you watch as I interrogate them each in turn and I won't be nearly as nice to them."

"You sick bastard." hissed the sergeant. "I wouldn't tell you how to wipe your own ass unless you would do it with a bayonet." Hans just stared at him for a moment, the sergeants face reflected back at him in the lenses of the mask.

"Very well," said Hans at length rising to his full height. The sergeant gave him a suppressed look of triumph as thought that he made the Lord General give ground. The look disappeared with the medicaes head.

It showered the young woman next to her and her auburn hair became sticky with blood and gore. Her eyes became wide and her breathing became ragged. The others jumped at the loud report from Deliverance.

Hans lowered himself to eye level with the young woman and she stared at him as if not seeing him. The events of the day being too much for her. Another pampered middle hiver trying to play war hero and realizing too late that it wasn't nearly as heroic as she thought it was.

"What is your name miss?" asked Hans gently.

"Clara, my name is Clara," she responded as if in a daze.

"Clara, that's a nice name," continued Hans. "Now Clara I have some questions that I need answered, do you think that You could do that for me?"

"I don't remember my serial number, I just got it and there's just too many numbers to remember, but my rank is private. I was told that was all I'm supposed to tell you, I'm sorry," she finished almost apologetically. Hans let out what could almost be interpreted as a disapproving sigh.

"Now therein lies the problem. If you don't tell me what I want to know, things will get very unpleasant for you very quickly. I don't want to have things get that way, so I'm hoping that you'll tell me what I need to know or I will have to get unpleasant." He gave her broken leg a light squeeze which elicited a light cry of pain from her.

"Do you see how things will get unpleasant if you don't answer my questions?" Clara gave a quick birdlike nod. "Good, now my first question is who were you fighting against that destroyed your unit? Can you tell me?" Clara gave another quick nod. "

It was-"

"Trooper, don't you dare tell him anything! You took the same oath as me to overthrow the Imperium, don't you dare throw it away just because the going gets a little tough. Show some Frakking Perexian backbone for Emperor's sake." It was the Sergeant from before who had spoken up, trying to resist even in the state he was in. Pity that he hadn't just kept his mouth shut.

"I didn't tell you to talk," said Hans not even turning his head to look at the offending sergeant.

"I don't need your frakking permission to talk you imperial bastard!" snarled the sergeant. At the tiniest of gestures from Hans a grenadier stepped up and struck the sergeant in the head with the butt of his rifle which sent him sprawling to the ground, blood seeping from a new wound on his head. The grenadier trained the rifle on the back of his head in case he moved or insulted the Lord General again.

"Now Clara, can you tell me who you were fighting against now?"

"It was angels sir."

"What do you mean by angels? Can you clarify that at all for me?"

"They came from the sky, bringing fire and death with them. They wore armour black as night with white as if to mock us. When we shot them they didn't fall, didn't cry out in pain, they just kept coming. They were giants and their eyes glowed, by the emperor they glowed bright even in the dark they glowed. We regrouped in the courtyard today with what was left of our battalion and tried to fight them, but it wasn't enough. We didn't even fell a single one of them."

Clara continued her story as if in a trance, relating a tale as it was played back to her in her damaged mind.

"How many were there Clara?"

"There were thousands of them, they darkened the land with their numbers."

"Thank you for telling me this Clara, you have helped the Imperium a great deal."

"Im sorry sir."

"For what?"

"For turning on the Emperor, I didn't mean to."

"Don't Worry Clara, atonement is always available for the faithful."

"Thank you sir." Hans didn't answer back as he walked away.

"Captain," called out Hans. One of the Paladonian dragoon captains began to canter up Hans on his steed when he realized it was the Krieg grenadier captain that he wanted. He brought his horse up short and flushed slightly at his mistake.

"My lord," answered the Grenadier a short distance from Hans.

"Kill them, all of them."

"At once my lord." A series or sharp las cracks rang out as the rest of the survivors were killed. It almost seemed someone had forcefully shoved them to the ground as the las rounds impacted them.

"Captain."

"Yes my lord?"

"Send a message back to head quarters. There are Adeptus Astartes on this planet of an unknown chapter. Tell them to check in system for an Astartes strike cruiser, as well as cross reference for chapters that use black and white as their chapter colours. They are of around company strength and progressing through sector sigma, theta, eight and have passed through our present location no more than forty minutes ago.

Tell them to keep our position locked for local or orbital bombardment should the need arise."

"Yes my lord, should I requisition more heavy weapons for us?"

"No, we will be meeting up with the 84th Krieg armoured in a moment, that should more than suffice as well as the Archillian 879th motorized.

"My lord if I may, are we really going to have to fight against the Emperors chosen?"

"Captain any Imperial citizen who wears the Uniform of his service is his chosen, as for fighting them, we shall see when we meet them. Now relay the message and prepare to move out."

"On your word Lord."

Hans surveyed his the battlefield again with new eyes. It was obvious now that it was space marines who had done this. The bolter fire was too precise, the lack of casualties too suspicious. He had a feeling that the space marine chapter were the Black Templars, but he couldn't be sure. That boded ill if it was the Templars though. If they were here it meant that xenos were here. Dangerous xenos. Perhaps a gene stealer cult had taken hold?

He had rooted them out before, though it took several years in which time he had lost Adolf his child who was extravagantly gifted at playing the piano. Dead on Crucible in a delaying action against the great enemy. Perhaps he was even now entertaining the Emperor with his pieces waiting until the final battle in which he would put down the arts and pick up his rifle for service in his name yet again. Not all of his children were meant to have been soldiers, some could have gained sector wide fame, but now they were gone. Now he was an old man musing when he should really be paying more attention to the task at hand.

They moved down through the broken streets between habs and bombed out businesses. They were now accompanied by the rumbling of heavy tanks and the deep thrum of heavy truck engines. Mostly Heracles half tracks, but there was more than a few chimeras from the Archillian 897th. The first real resistance came as they came around a bend in the street. Heavy stubbers and autocannons rained fire down on them. The lead infantry were cut down, Krieg, Archillian, and Palladonian blood running through the streets. A fusillade of auto rifles cut in, throwing solid slug rounds their way. The weapons fire lit up the windows where they were hiding though.

The tanks simply rolled around the corner shrugging off any hits and rotated their turrets to the incoming ineffectual fire which seemed to intensify as if they threw enough fire at the metal behemoths they would simply explode. The battle cannons lobbed high explosive shells into the buildings causing masonry mixed with body parts to fly into the streets cutting off the return fire as the heavy bolters swept from window to window as the cannons reloaded.

Some rebels ran from the houses, only to be cut down at another intersection from another advancing arm of Hans personal advance.

This had ceased to be warfare, it was merely cleanup and some clandestine space marines were infinitely more interesting than a rabble of rebelling citizens playing guard dress up.

The trail wasn't exactly hard to follow, all Hans had to do was follow the bodies. There were many, many rebels dead from bolter fire and even what appeared to be a chimera ripped open by claws, the occupants inside ripped apart repainting the inside in a gory decor. If you looked close enough you could see evidence of space marines, boot prints in the ferracrete, chainsword marks in the ground from a particularly brutal execution or any matter of other form of space marine combat.

The trail eventually lead to a museum displaying geological marvels from the outlying moons and uninhabitable worlds of the system. The Gallery Perexis Imperialis. A high reaching gothic structure that was even yet still dwarfed by the crumbling hive spires.

"Colonel Drei," said Hans speaking into a vox set. "Take your forces and secure the perimeter of the building. Deploy your heavy weapons teams as you see fit, I don't want anyone surprising us once we're inside."

"Of course Lord General, My men and women of the Archillian 897th will teach those dogs to fear Imperial guns properly. Do you want any prisoners?"

"We have enough prisoners, if anyone attacks dispose of them as you would any enemy of the Imperium."

"Of course Lord, no one shall get through our lines. The sons and daughters of Achilles V don't give ground easily."

"You shouldn't give ground at all colonel, now get moving," snapped Hans brusquely. With a muffled affirmative, Colones Drei cut communications and the rumble of trucks shepherded by Krieg tanks completely surrounded the museum on all sides. It was amazing what a seven thousand man blockade could look like. Five thousand in the Archillian ranks and another two in the Krieg armoured. Hans had over a hundred grenadiers ready to storm the building with him, as well as another two hundred dismounted Paladonian dragoons with las carbines and either chainsword or monomolecular.

The steps were littered with fallen rebels, strewn about where they had fallen. They met the first casualty of the Black Templars now confirmed though. A tactical marine who had taken a long las round through the optics of his helmet. He was collapsed at the top, his gene seed already removed. Statues of Imperial heroes stood vigil over him and murals of Imperial victories a backdrop to his death. A good place to die by all accounts, but if the body was still here, then that meant the rest of the company would be nearby. They only question was would they be accommodating or hostile?

The great doors leading into the museum were opened and the first squad probed inside, hellguns of the grenadiers searching all the corners. They moved fluidly through the entrance area and took defensive positions covering the entrances into into the central plaza. With a quick key of his helmet vox, the lead grenadier signalled all clear. The grendadiers stormed in with the dragoons, while Hans calmly walked in, his soldiers streaking past him on either side. A platoon of dragoons was left outside to secure the entrance to the museum.

"Lieutenant Theta eight dash two, take your platoon through the east wing. Lieutenant Beta zero four, take the west wing. Lieutenant Schaffers, take your platoon with Lieutenant Theta, Lieutenant Prayr, take yours with Lieutenant Beta. Captain Landers hold the plaza, the rest of you are with me."

Hans gave the orders quickly and efficiently, his skill at command honed over the years to a razor keen. He hadn't gotten Lord General by virtue of surviving, but it had helped if he was honest with himself.

The plaza was decorated with the skeletons of fearsome beasts native to Perexis V towering several stories, but long since extinct. Portraits and old holo picts immortalizing the men who had discovered these ancient creatures. Some fossils were scattered around in display cases, which surprisingly had very little damage.

From the looks of things, the rebels had pulled further into the museum at the sight of the space marines, and foregoing the open areas of the plaza to try and ambush them in the winding hallways of the exhibits.

"Sir are we really going to fight against space marines? I mean aren't they the Emperor's best, the ones who protect humanity? If I may be so bold it almost seems a sin to draw arms against them." It was a young Paladonian Dragoon who had addressed him, his tall plumed helmet looking precariously perched on top of his head, and the deep blue plume seeming lackluster.

"Guardsmen, we are the Emperors hammer, we are his will. If someone raises a hand against us they are going against him on the golden throne. As for the Emperors best, it is easy to be good when you are genetically augmented and are given the finest weapons and armour in the Imperium. Take heart and know that we will meet any threat with the fury of the Emperor, his will be done through us.

As for fighting them, it shouldn't come to that. Just keep your weapon ready and remember you training."

"Yes sir, but will we stand a chance?"

Hans turned his head to the trooper who was nearly a full head shorter than him, and much scrawnier.

"Sometimes, all that is required of us is that we do stand."

"Yes sir."

"And guardsmen."

"Yes sir?"

"It's Lord."

"Of course si- lord, umm Lord General."

Hans sent the dragoon on his way before he dug himself a trench, then took lead of his forces, numbering just under two hundred men. Most senior officers would think it ridiculous that a Lord General would be on the front lines with such a small cadre of soldiers around him, not to mention doing a combat operation. However Hans wasn't much for sitting behind a desk the whole of the campaign, plus it inspired troops to see such a high ranking officer fighting shoulder to shoulder with them.

The Paladonians spurs jingled on their riding boots as they proceeded through the museum, but aside from a few glares from the grenadiers, nothing of ill fortune befell them. There were bodies of course, but all were of traitors. Seeing them set Hans on edge, though his guardsmen just assumed the space marines had done it, Hans knew better.

The wounds were too, clean for lack of a better word. The ranged weapon wounds were far too small for bolters which would have just exploded the bodies of the traitors, also the sword wounds. Far to clean cut, no chainsword could have made such a precise, non shredded wound. Not only that, but these soldiers looked like they had been taken by surprise. In the process of setting up an auto cannon when their fate had befallen them.

"Space marines didn't do this Lord," said the grenadier captain to Hans in a low tone to avoid being overheard by the rest of the guardsmen.

"I know, and I fear I know who did this," said Hans rising from the corpse whose wounds he had been inspecting.

"Xenos my lord?"

"Eldar captain, tell the men to stay alert there are more than just traitors and an out of place space marine chapter to look out for."

"Yes my lord, we shall purge them once given the opportunity. The Emperor protects."

"The Emperor protects," repeated Hans.

They stepped over the dead traitors and proceeded past innumerable smashed display cases and riddled hallways full of pockmarks form las rifles, auto, bolter, and xenos weapons fire. Hans drew Gottandammerung and Deliverance in anticipation of the coming fight. With a hiss crack accompanied by the smell of ozone, Gottandammerung woke up, preparing for yet another fight. It wrapped itself in Electric fire like an expensive coat flaunting it to all those around it. Such a prissy sword.

They came to another exhibit with doors blown off the hinges. They entered cautiously, grenadiers leading the way, moving in combat crouches, but then they stopped and stared. Hans stared too, who wouldn't?

There was a case at the top of marble steps, like those of a throne room, inside of which a stone glowed as if possessed by an internal light. Casting dancing lights in its case. That wasn't what caught his attention though, that wasn't what had made him stop and stare. What had made Krieg grenadiers stop and stare. It was marines, a full squad resplendent in their power armour of white and black, with a thick cross on the pauldrons. Ten of the emperors finest, all dead.

"Oh throne, what did this?" voiced a shocked dragoon, las carbine held loosely in his grip.

"Who could kill so many astartes?" said another awestruck dragoon.

"Was it daemons?" dared a third dragoon. A loud bolt shot was his answer, from the pistol of their commissar.

"Speak no heresy sons of Paladonia! Weep for the fallen angels of the Emperors wrath, but do so later when it is proper to mourn them. For now, steel yourselves for the task at hand and show these wretches whoever has committed this vile act that we will not stand for this! Search the room for the heathens and end them." With a cheer the dragoons rushed into the room, quickly filling out all sides and turning over bodies, securing it. The grenadiers stayed close to the Lord General waiting for his orders and his alone.

"Stay close and watch the shadows," cautioned Hans moving into the room his grenadiers forming a protective buffer around him. He made straight for one of the fallen marines kneeling to inspect the wounds. The marine had a clean hole through the helmet at a higher elevation almost as if the round had... come from above. Hans saw the barest reflection of movement in the marines optics from above.

Hans threw himself back as a xeno rifle fired barely missing him, but took some of the plume off of his helmet.

"They're above us in the rafters!" called out Hans as a flurry of shots came down from long rifles taking guardsmen in perfect headshots as they struggled to find cover from an enemy above them. A hail of las shots flew into the rafters, streams of blood red streaks providing a deadly light show as the guardsmen returned fire.

A couple of very tall xenos in long cloaks fell, smoking wounds in their bodies, but more continued to pour fire at them from above claiming more guardsmen. Hans dodged another shot from a xeno the round intended to end his life tearing a gouge out of the stone at his feet. He brought Deliverance around and fired three bolt rounds in quick succession at the muzzle flashes. He was rewarded by a bloody rain of body parts falling to hit wetly on the marble floor. Before the guardsmen could capitalize on their superior firepower, dark shapes dropped from the rafters and began tearing into the guardsmen with a whirr of chainblades. Striking Scorpions.

They quickly became locked in combat with the Paladonian dragoons, the dangerous aspect warriors going against swordsmen trained by the revered troop masters or the famed horse regiments where sword and stirrup were inseparable from themselves. Even still, three dragoons was an even match for one of the xenos, ducking and weaving, killing blows only just deflected by another dragoon. Their light blue uniforms weaving in and out as their plumes danced to a sick rhythm of death. A dragoon was felled as he lunged by a mandiblaster, and his compatriot died severing the mandiblaster, run through by the chainsword, his blue uniform staining dark with his blood.

The last dragoon was then locked in a vicious duel for life or death, but it was only one amongst many and Hans had to keep moving to survive.

He felled a striking scorpion with a bolt to the back of the head as it was eviscerating a grenadier, the blade leaving a bloody trail down his torso. Another striking scorpion tried to lock blades with him, but Gottandammerung seemed almost insulted as it cleaved through the xeno chainsword that the eldar had thought such a pitiful weapon could stand against it was ridiculous. Hans continued with the follow through cleaving the eldar in half. It tried to twist out of the and flow away like mercury, but Hans was too fast for that. Two smoking pieces of xeno fell at his feet.

A grenadier was firing a plasma gun into the rafters, taking down great sections of architecture claiming more than one xeno with great efficiency. With a flash of light, a blade protruded grotesquely from his chest, the plasma gun falling from his nerveless hands. The eldar looking almost hunchbacked with some sort of crescent shaped pack on its back looping around its back at the shoulders. With another flash of light it disappeared again. Warp spiders.

More of them began to teleport randomly around the battlefield causing confusion, causing troopers to fire blindly in some cases. Deliverance found one as it attempted to claim the life of a young dragoon duelling with a striking scorpion. The battlefield was in chaos.

Voices were raised in battle cries and pain, weapons fire barked or chattered each dealing death in a multitude. Las beams crossed passed with monomolecular discs in deadly trajectories, each looking for flesh to sink into.

There was a flash of light behind Hans as well as the sharp smell of ozone which came in through his mask which he realized now had a hole in it. Hans moved just in time, a wrist mounted blade punching through his armoured greatcoat like it was made of paper. The eldar was taken by surprise in just punching through a coat was taken off balance. Hans dropped Deliverance, grabbing the eldars arm pulled him further forwards off balance, reversing his grip on Gottandammerung he drove it backwards, spearing through the eldar and severing the spine. It fell in a crumpled heap on the ground.

The volley of sniper fire was still claiming many guardsmen and had to be put to a stop. Here another guardsmen fell, a bloody hole in his forehead. There the commissar fell, words of encouragement choked short by a shot through the throat. Hans spied the plasma gun still by the fallen grenadier, it would do. Hans took off running scooping up Deliverance as he ran dodging the many duels in his way as well as disciplined fire from his grenadiers picking off eldar. They were still in tactical formation fighting as a unit like they had been taught, it made him proud.

Hans reached the plasma gun and hefted it. It was a powerful weapon though dangerous, but even it wouldn't be able to fell the enemies in one fell swoop. Not by shooting at least. With a mighty heave, Hans tossed the gun into the air towards the upper rafters. Just when it was about to make its descent back down, Hans but a bolt round through it, and it exploded brilliantly with unreal temperatures tearing the upper levels apart.

Burning bodies and architecture fell down, felled by the detonation. If the battle kept up this way, victory would be theirs, the eldars numbers few to begin with were dwindling rapidly.

Al'Haleith moved with her sisters of the howling banshee aspect, dyed blood red hair and bone white armour their uniform. They moved with what humans would call catlike grace, but that wouldn't be an accurate comparison, they were better. They had been dispatched to this filthy mon-keigh planet to retrieve the soul stone of farseer Gelith long thought lost, but discovered by the primitive archaeological teams.

It had been easy to infiltrate the planet and even easier still to evade the embattled mon-keighs fighting each other.

They were under the command of farseer Barrandas and although they had encountered the space marines, they would soon have their prize then they could leave this miserable ball of dirt.

They entered the chamber containing the soulstone and let loose their psychic battle cry, as they charged into the fray.

The monkeighs weak minds unable to cope with the power of the blast, clutched at their heads in some cases dropping their weapons. Screaming in pain or rage, pulling at their hair trying to drive out the psychic pain. In a matter of moments, Al'Haleith had already slain five of the barbaric looking mon-keigh in coarsely made blue clothing, their brutish faces a horrendous mockery of eldar beauty.

With sure easy strokes she ended their lives moving like quiksilver between them.

She went after a black armoured human amazingly fighting against the power of the battle cry and bringing up his rifle, a grotesque mask of dull brass on its face. Still better to look at then their barbaric features though.

She dodged from side to side avoiding the concentrated beams of light and took the mon-keighs arm along with his rifle in a downwards slash. She turned to finish off the dying mon-keigh, only to be tackled to the ground by the one armed mon-keigh, a crude knife in its hand attempting to drive it through her neck heedless of its missing arm as it continued to fight.

With her sword arm pinned she fought to keep the stonger brute at bay, but the knife slowly descended down along with ruby red droplets of blood the continued to pulse out of its stump of an arm with every beat of its crude heart. Dark lenses stared into her face as unforgiving as her own warmask. Al'Haleith pulled her shuriken pistol out of its holster and fired once, twice, three times into the chest of the mon-keigh. The knife dropped with a clatter and the body above her went limp.

She quickly pushed it off of her and threw herself to her feet in a ready crouch, only having to leap out of the way as a spatter of weaponized light hit where she had been crouching throwing up chunks of molten rock and marble.

Al'Haleith jumped through the air executing a flip landing behind the dark armoured mon-keigh shooting at her. With a quick swing of her blade she beheaded him. A cry of surprise caught her attention and she looked to her sister Malaru to find her blade stuck in the chest of another dark armoured mon-keigh, but that same mon-keigh gripping her arm and holding her in place.

Al'Haleith watched in horror as the barbarian drew his other arm across his chest arming the simple grenades, then drawing Malaru into a lovers embrace as she desperately fought to get free. The explosion bathed them both in a fiery light, silhouetting them before completely destroying them.

Al'Haleith couldn't believe it, why wasn't Barrandas warning them in the battle of potentially fatal moves? What was he doing, she hadn't heard him since he had told them to go and assist in the retrieval of the spirit stone. She felt the rage of Khaine reach a breaking point in her and she charged in screaming like a berserker, carving mon-keigh apart left and right.

She knocked down another mon-keigh in a blue uniform and brought her sword down intending to cleave its skull in half, only for her blade to be stopped short by a powersword. It was a mon-keigh powersword, but this one was not crudely made and it practically thrummed with power.

Her sword was batted up, and she had to stop a follow attack intending to behead her then, than another at the chest, then again a downward slash, all of them just a blur.

She leapt back to get a better look at her opponent. He was tall for a mon-keigh and very broad, but also quick. A helmet like that of a dire avenger was on his head, but everything about him screamed of rank among these filthy barbarians. That, and the psychic death screams of over half a dozen eldar clung to him like tar each demanding vengeance for their death, and the sword. It reeked of death, not just new, but old as well, very old.

The Monkeigh adopted a low stance, sword held back then charged attacking in a high attack. Al'Haleith side stepped flowing like liquid intending to stab him in the back, but had to put up a hasty guard as he had already turned attacking viciously. He was fast, too fast.

How is this possible? Thought Al'Haleith worriedly. Mon-keigh aren't this fast.

A particularly brutal slash batted her sword out of the way and before she could bring it back, a kick caught her in the side of the head, breaking the locks on her helmet sending her sprawling.

Al'Haleith saw stars as she gazed upwards without her helmets optics she saw a flash of blue fall and on reflex she rolled, but felt a stinging pain on her cheek. Before she could move again or rise to her feet, a heavy boot slammed down on her chest, pinning her to the ground. She gazed up at the mon-keigh who had defeated her so easily, so effortlessly.

For once in her long life of battle, Al'Haleith felt fear of death in herself at this faceless mon-keigh standing like a king above her. She saw the powersword rise and knew this was her end. A flash of white behind the mon-keigh caught her attention. One of her sisters coming to her aid.

The powersword of the howling banshee flashed in towards the mon-keigh commander. Maybe sensing the danger he twisted out of the way, but the blade still found blood nicking the ribs, tearing a small strip out of his armour. Before the howling banshee could turn to capitalize on her victory, his hand shot out like a snakes head grabbing her arm, then bringing his sword down in a diagonal slash cleaving her in half.

Another banshee defeated by blades by a clumsy monkeigh. How? How was this happening? The others had fallen their clumsy swings easy to deflect, but this one didn't even move like them, he moved much more fluidly, much more quickly.

A shrill battle cry rose from the remaining banshees and they all converged upon the monkeigh commander, six aspect warriors and their exarch.

Under the assault of the howling banshees, the commander retreated up the steps towards the spirit stone, blocking and moving with the skill of any eldar warrior. The blades were simply a blur moving twisting, stabling, hacking, slashing, parrying, and spinning yet somehow the mon-keigh was holding them back, but being forced back up the steps. His powersword meeting them stroke for stroke a lesser species he might have been, but clearly a master of the blade.

Al'Haleiths heart almost burst with joy when she saw a blade slip above his guard towards his head, but at the last possible moment he threw his head back avoiding the swinging blade, but losing his mask in the process. Pale features with prominent steel grey eyes revealed themselves set in a look of grim concentration as he danced the deadly dance of blades. Further and further they ascended up the steps each move vital, each stroke potentially lethal. Then came the casualties.

An overeager banshee attempted a finishing move coming in low attempting to eviscerate him, but she left her guard open for a fraction of a second. That was all he needed to plunge his ancient sword through her heart snuffing out the life of another one of her sisters. She fell back out of the press and the rest of the aspect warriors renewed their assault, striking faster and faster the fury of Khaine overtaking them.

Then they started to draw blood.

A nick here, a light cut there, they began to take down the mon-keigh a piece at a time.

A low twirling slash from the exarchs mirrorblades linked together finally dealt a serious wound to the monkeigh as it cut a gash from hip to shoulder releasing a gout of blood just as he reached the precipice of the raised exhibit. He staggered back, blood staining the marble at his feet, the last of his soldiers long since dead, his only audience the rest of the aspect warriors awaiting his demise for the death of so many of their own. Another banshee rushed in to finish the wounded mon-keigh, his blade held too far out for him to bring it back in time, but he didn't use his sword.

Energy crackled around his gauntleted hand in dangerous arcs as the howling banshee came close, he struck out with a lightning fast punch shattering the banshees helmet, then the face underneath it. The dead banshee was tossed back knocking some of her sisters back as they retreated a few steps preparing to finish the mon-keigh, his blood staining the gold depiction of a dragon on his breastplate to a bright red shine. The commanders gauntlet had been a powerfist in disguise. His shoulders were heaving as he caught his breath as well as dealing with his wounds, Al'Haleith was about to join her sisters when the mon-keigh locked eyes with her, freezing her in place.

The cold grey eyes stealing the strength from her limbs almost like it had the power to steal her soul from her body. The banshees were about to finish him when he spoke, in eldar tongue.

"You...you think you have won don't you?" he said bringing himself up to his full height. It was guttural and harsh butchering the light flowing speech it was supposed to be, but he was still speaking to them in their language, it was just too strange for words.

"But the truth is that you've already lost you just don't know it yet. Seven thousand loyal Imperial troops surround this very building eager for vengeance against you." He spun his sword in his hand bringing it into a horizontal guard across his chest going past his face, the energy of the sword casting his features in a ghostly blue light.

"I may die today, but someone will take my place someone stronger than I could ever hope to be. So come, see how a son of Krieg dies it will be the last time you ever do so." He thrust the sword behind him and charged the banshees.

Just before their swords clashed, a harsh explosion filled the air throwing eldar bodies into the air.

"Forward brothers! Cleanse these filthy xenos and remove their stain from this world. FOR THE EMPEROR!"

Bolter fire from a dozen space marines struck down eldar as they tried to return fire or close to take the fight to them. The heavy armour of the space marines shrugging off any return fire as the sword brothers continued their assault.

"Make them pay for trying to taint the minds of our battle brothers. FORWARD!" Another full squad of battle brothers charged in chainswords and power weapons at the ready. The eldar had no choice but to withdraw at the arrival of the space marines.

"Al'Haleith watched another of her fleeing sisters take a bolt round to the back as humanities greatest warriors came into the fray. There was no saving her, maybe they could retrieve their soul stones at a later time. Maybe they could retrieve them all. As she ran, she saw more eldar die as they attempted to flee the room, a striking scorpion cleaved in half by a vicious looking chainsword, and a warp spider chased down by several streams of bolt fire in a gory explosion.

A bolt round exploded by her feet causing her to stumble, but she could still run faster than any human, including a space marine. She quickly fled the chamber as well as the rest of her kin, the floor covered in a light coating of blood from eldar and human alike. There were many more dead humans than eldar, but each dead eldar was irreplaceable.

It filled her with rage and a cold sense of loss that they had failed, lost so much only to have failed. She cast a look back, and she saw the monkeigh commander standing tall on top of the rise the rising heat from the fire causing his coat to billow slightly. He was just staring at them as they left with those cold grey eyes that never once showed fear.

After today, she didn't feel Khaines anger burning hot in her veins anymore. Her path on that of the warrior was done. She didn't want to ever meet that man again. Her lightfooted steps took her far away from the sounds of gunfire and the steel eyed man.

Hans fell to one knee deactivating Gottandammerung before it sank to the hilt in the marble staircase. He put one arm across his chest then leaning heavily on his blade rose to his feet. In the melee he had lost Deliverance somewhere on the ground floor, but he could find that later. His chest felt it was going to open like a giant mouth and judging from his wounds that was entirely possible.

Incredibly heavy footsteps signalled the arrival of one of the Black Templars. Hans turned to face him, still unsteady on his feet.

The black templar looked around the battlefield, picking out those killed by a powersword or smaller calibre bolt rounds also noting the trail of dead howling banshees leading to the precipice of the rise.

"You fought very well for a mortal guardsmen, what is your rank?"

"I am Lord General 01 of the Emperors Vaunted Death Korps of Krieg. I merely fought to the best of my ability for him on high," responded Hans using his Korps identification.

"Not many space marines could have killed so many eldar in a single fight, or taken on so many single handedly let alone a mortal do it. How is it that you were overlooked in screening processes?"

"I never applied, my father died when I reached adulthood so I joined the guard and took over as the head of my family."

"Well it is a shame that we didn't have your arm in our ranks as a sword brother, is there another in your family who is skilled enough to be considered an initiate?"

Hans thought quickly of Erich and his prodigal skill with a blade.

"No I am afraid not, all of my skilled sons have died serving the Emperor. There is no one else who could be of use to you," said Hans knowing full well that if space marines chose to they could forcibly recruit skilled healthy children to their ranks. Erich wouldn't last long until he was discovered as an untouchable in the Black Templar ranks, better that he stay hidden on Krieg away from prying eyes. The cold embrace of Krieg would keep him safe.

"I believe I have been rude to you general, you have given me your name but I have not given you mine. I am sword brother Kratos of the Black Templars. I am sorry for the death of your men, I am afraid that the xenos have slain all of your men within this structure. We tried to assist, but I am sorry to say that the mutant witch they had with them had us trapped in a delusional reality that we only were just recently able to escape. I am sorry for the failure on our part."

"They died doing the Emperors will, I could have asked nothing more of them. I myself was not far from joining them when you intervened. For that I thank you. It should be I who am apologizing to you though, if we had been faster we may have been able to prevent your battle brothers deaths, even at the cost of our own lives. I know how valuable a space marine is."

Something like grief came over the space marines face as he looked over the ten dead space marines.

"They were only recently promoted Neophytes, we should have sent a sword brother with them, but they were so eager to prove themselves that I allowed them to go off on their own. This is my failure, one that I will have to atone for on my own."

"We each have sins that we must one day face big or small our sins must still be repaid in full. As a son of Krieg I understand this all too well," said Hans as blood dribbled down the front of his armour to the floor.

"Do you require an apothecary? Brother Sanktus is very skilled at healing wounds such as that." Hans nodded stiffly.

"That would be appreciated, I thank you for your kindness brother Kratos."

"Oh it's not kindness," said Kratos breaking into a grin. "Your men outside are in a most disagreeable mood and they refuse to talk to us at all. In fact brother Draken lost his arm to the main cannon of one of your tanks and has been screaming bloody murder ever since, so we need you to tell them to stand down before he charges off and takes that tank cannon as a replacement." Hans chuckled, before falling into a coughing fit hacking up a clout of blood.

"Brother Kratos, I believe I may that apothecary sooner rather than later."

"Right this way general," said Kratos gesturing.

"Oh and brother Kratos."

"Yes general?"

"It's lord," said Hans using Gottandammerung as a walking cane miffing the sword a bit, but willing to help its master get healed so it could get back into the fray.

"Very good master Erich, now play that piece again so we can learn it completely." Erich was in the music hall of the Von Shreider estate, practising on the Grand Terran Piano. One of the most expensive and well made pieces of musical hardware in the whole of the Imperium. Erich began playing 'Life in death,' a haunting piece that spoke of dying in the service of Emperor so as to bring new life to the Imperium. Allowing humanity to survive through sacrifice and the sorrow of those over the fallen, but the joy they brought to the rest of mankind through their courage.

His music teacher was a potbellied man who always wore fine clothes and had a habit for both giving praise and striking your hands with a conductors wand when you made a mistake.

Erichs long fingers danced over the keyboard as he played the piece, filling the hall with a haunting yet beautiful melody. His teacher professor Klein of the Imperial music academy bobbed his wand to the rhythm of the music humming the tune to himself as if he was conducting a band of hundreds to a crowd of tens of thousand instead of a single noble, his caretaker, and two house guards standing at rigid attention by the door unmoving.

He finished, drawing out the last low note to the proper length ending the song as he was supposed to. The hall was silent as the last note died away, then a loud clapping as Elisha applauded the fourteen year old Krieger on his performance.

"Bravo! Bravo master Erich," Elisha cheered enthusiastically. If looks could kill, the one that Klein shot her would have had her hit with a full battery of earth shakers.

"I will thank you caretaker not to interrupt my students when they are performing their pieces, thereby sabotaging their musical education. Do I make myself clear or do I have to inform the baroness of this act?"

"You have made yourself perfectly clear professor Klein," apologized Elisha head bowed and subdued.

"Very good then, I will leave the lord in your care as I prepare for tonight's ceremony. It is a very special occasion and he must be ready, I trust that you can look after him as your final night as his caretaker yes?"

"Yes I will perform my duties," replied Elisha sharply reminded that Erich was turning fifteen tonight and technically she would be out of a job on the stroke of midnight thus making her unnecessary. She would have to lay low for a while and hope that she didn't find herself outside without a enviro suit courtesy of the baroness.

"Goodbye lord, and remember great artists are made-"

"Through hard work and diligence not idle play. I know Professor I haven't forgotten," finished Hans. A look of annoyance spread across Kleins face, but it disappeared just as quickly.

"Do study hard lord, I will see you later tonight." Klein left the music hall flanked by the house guards.

"Well I for one, think that you did extremely well Erich and I love listening to you play the piano."

"I could play for you sometime if you would like, after tonight I will be a full fledged adult able to dictate my own schedule. Would you like me to play for you sometime?"

"I would love to hear you play, but I won't be able to spend as much time with you after tonight. I won't be your caretaker anymore and I'll probably be sent off to another part of the manor to work," said Elisha. Probably the lowest levels where the prickle rats could be found if the baroness had her way, thought Elisha bitterly.

"I could have you reassigned, have you stay with me anyways even if your not my caretaker. I have no need of an army of servants to do every task for me, just you to stay by my side."

"Lord Erich, what are you suggesting?" asked Elisha wary of the direction that he conversation was taking.

"You know that after tonight I will most probably be paired with some noble woman whom I have in all probability never met before and I don't want to be alone like that."

"Erich I'm sure if you need someone to talk to you can simply send for me. I'll only be in another part of the manor and if you need to have a friend with you I will always be around."

"Elisha you aren't listening to me," said Erich a more urgent tone taking hold in his voice. "I'm not saying that I am scared to be wedded to someone I've never met before, it's more important than that."

"Erich, what are you talking about?"

"Elisha, after tonight I will be an adult and able to make any choice for myself that I wish, one that my family cannot go against no matter what I choose. I don't care what they want for me or who they want for me, because Elisha I want you."

"Wh-what?" asked Elisha thunderstruck.

"I know that it will be quite the scandal and be talked about by the other nobles, but I don't care about any of that. You're the only woman who has ever been able to stand my company no matter how I have presented my self or how hospitable I have been. I know that I can only be happy with you so I am asking you Elisha when I ascend to adulthood will you accept my proposal and become baroness Elisha Von Shreider?"

Elisha was still reeling from the information that her brain was still trying to process. Had she just been offered to become part of one of the richest and most powerful families in all of segmentum Tempestus? That the boy whom she had cared for since he was six was asking for her hand in marriage and all she had to do for a life of luxury and a man who was clearly in love with her was say yes? No more slavery, no more wrathful baroness able to punish her whenever she felt like it, no life of servitude for her children. All She had to do was say yes and her life and those of her children would forever be looked after in the lap of luxury. She looked up into those hopeful steel coloured eyes and gave her answer.

"No."

"What?"

"I said no Erich, I'm sorry but I just can't do this."

"But why? I could give you everything you've ever wanted, I need you Elsiha, I lo-"

"Don't say it Erich, don't."

"But why? Have I done something wrong. Is it how I dress? How I stand? I'll change it, I'll do whatever it takes."

"Erich."

"If you don't like Krieg, we'll move. Back to Palladonia if you like I have more than enough funds to set us up comfortably and we own several shipping businesses there that I could take over."

"Erich."

"If you dislike my mother you never have to see her again, I won't contact her. Anything you want I can give you."

"Erich!" said Elisha more forcefully. He fell silent as Elisha raised her voice as she so seldom did.

"I need you to listen to what I have to say, can you do that for me?"

"I can."

"Erich, you're a sweet young man, but I can't be what you want me to be."

"Is it because you don't care for me?"

"It is because I care for you that I can't accept your proposal," said Elisha slightly stung at his accusation. "I care for you so much that I want you to be happy in your life, but I don't feel the same for you as you do for me and that would just make us both unhappy in the long run. So please don't feel hurt that I'm refusing you in this." Erich remained silent, but Elisha could see the hope drain out of his eyes. Elisha took Erichs hands in hers and stared him in the eyes.

"You're a very sweet man Erich and I know that any woman would care for you as you care for me so long as you treat them like you've treated me and show them how kind you really are."

"So you're saying that I could have any woman I wanted as long as I am myself?" asked Erich in a level voice.

"Yes Erich I know that they would just adore you," said Elisha hoping that she could make this a little less painful for him.

"Any woman," Erich repeated almost to himself. "So as long as I am myself women will flock to me? Not hide their faces behind their fans and talk in low voices about me? They won't move to the other table when I sit next to them? Won't look at me in disgust when I smile at them? Won't throw away my presents and gifts that I give to them hoping to woo them? They won't refuse me saying how great I am but can't be with them?"

"Erich that's not fair."

"No Elisha whats not fair is that absolutely no one will spend time around me unless under pain of death!" said Erich his voice rising in volume. "You think I never noticed how I have always been alone, how my playmates when I was a child cried when they were near me? How I never made any friends with any of the other nobles I duelled with or trained with? I am well aware of how being myself has done for me and you know what? It has done worse than nothing it has made me an outcast. I understand that I must atone for my sins, but I never thought I would have to do it alone."

"But you won't be alone, you'll be married."

"To a noblewoman who only wants my wealth and power and the protection it brings them, just like everyone else who spends time with me."

"Erich you can't mean-"

"Yes I mean you!" spat out Erich vehemently. "Always looking to me to keep your secrets, keep you safe from my mothers wrath or the other servants. You have used me to keep you safe here, used my love, the friendship that I thought we had. You were my friend, my only companion and you used me!"

Elisha felt hot tears break free and start to fall.

"Erich please it was never like that, this isn't like you I know you."

"Oh? Do You now? You know what makes me tick how I feel about things? Or just what you've told me to think? Are these tears because your so happy your sad too or are the-" A hard slap left a red hand print across Erichs face and turned his head to the side.

"Listen you bastard! I do love you yes, because I raised you since you were six. I care for you like you are my own son, that's why I can't be with you, you're like my son and I won't marry my own child! I can't love you like that because I don't see Erich the man when I look at you I see Erich the little boy who would always try and sneak sweets before supper and hold my hand when no one was looking. So if you want my answer, there it is you stupid son of a bitch!" Elisha tried to slap him again, but had her hand caught in an admantanium grip and Erichs head slowly turned so he was looking down at her again. A cold rage like she had never seen before in his eyes was directed not at another servant, not at an enemy, at her and it made her feel very small.

"You struck me," said Erich in a deadly quiet voice.

"Erich you're hurting me," said Elisha trying to pull her hand free from the grip, but not even managing to shift his arm.

"I could have you made into a servitor for that you know. You are owned by the Von Shreider family and by extension me."

"Erich please you're scaring me, this isn't you please stop this, please," pleaded Elisha for the first time in her life mortally terrified of Erich. "I know you're upset and hurt and angry, but this isn't how to deal with it."

"Don't you DARE tell me how to deal with this!" Elisha flinched back as he practically yelled in her face. I'll deal with this anyway I please and I am sick of waiting for things to come to me and being nice. Sick of it! Sick of seeing people I care about shrink back from me! If I want something I will take it and that includes you too."

"Erich listen to yourself please stop this," said Elisha sobbing.

"No I am speaking now!" said Erich gesturing forcibly in Elishas face.

"Don't hit me please." said Elisha completely breaking down.

Those last words seemed to bring Erich out of his emotional rage and think rationally again. He saw himself towering over the woman who had cared for him all his life reduced to tears and absolutely terrified of him. He let go of her hand and watched her slink to the ground and cover herself in a curtain of her long hair shutting herself out from the world and him.

"I...I never meant to... I am... I would never hit you," stammered out Erich.

"Go away," said Elisha in a tear soaked voice safe in her protective veil of hair.

"I didn't mean it, those things I said."

"I SAID GO!" shouted Elisha glaring at him with already reddening eyes. "LEAVE!"

Erich stumbled back as if struck, then donned his mask a moment later and walked away, any other thoughts or feelings that were coursing through him swallowed up by his Krieg mask. He left the music room filled with enough exotic instruments to be able to pay for a manor in their own right. Two house guards stood at the ready, their hellguns safeties off. Being now over six feet tall, Erich could look even the largest of them directly in the eye, and they looked to him for orders. They would do anything he told them to. Anything at all.

"When caretaker alpha six comes out of the music hall, escort her back to her room. Keep all requests for her to work away from her and bring her refreshments from the kitchen. Not the gruel meant for the servants, the pastries meant for the guests." The grenadiers looked at him like he had just sprouted several tentacles and another arm. Well that wasn't entirely accurate, if he had done that they would have gunned him down with a maximum of lethality.

"Also watch her and make sure that she doesn't...hurt herself while she's in there. At 1800 hours she is to come get me from my room and take me to the ceremonies. Escort her to my quarters as well. Also, don't let my mother see her." That request almost made even their strict discipline of the Death Korps question him, but in the end their strict discipline won out.

"Yes my lord, and if she does attempt to hurt herself?"

"Restrain her, but do not harm her."

"Your will be done my lord." The two house guards filed into the music hall now Elisha's unofficial caretakers.

Erich walked down the hallways to prepare, the only sound accompanying him was his boots clacking on the hard marble floor underneath his feet.

Hans was in his study staring at the faintly glowing spirit stone on his desk. He didn't know how he had gotten it, he hadn't taken it from the display case, the las proof glass hadn't even been broken and yet he had later found the stone in his pocket much to his surprise. Not even right after the battle either, but later while on the troopship heading back to Krieg only two systems away. He had wanted to turn it in, but he had been in orbit over Krieg when he had found it.

That meant that his family would have to have been questioned as well and while that wasn't much of a problem since that they didn't know anything about it, they would be questioned the inquisitors, psychically. Now Hans wasn't a dumb man, he knew what would happen when they found Erich to be an untouchable. He would be taken, and repercussions would fall like hail on his family and its name.

Who knows what the inquisition would actually do once they found out. Hans had an idea, but he couldn't be sure.

Hans leaned back in his chair and turned it so he could stare at the intricately carved golden aquilla and his family crest, the same crest that had been burned into his arm and would be done to Erich, to mark his as a full grown Shreider tonight. Hans didn't want him in the Imperial guard, couldn't stand the thought of him dying before his twentieth birthday before he had even a chance to have children of his own.

That was one of the reasons that Hans only took assignments that were within a few weeks of Krieg, he didn't want to leave the boy alone, especially with his mother. She was always open and as caring as any Krieg woman Hans had ever known and he had loved her. Still loved her, but like any noble with too much time and money on her hands she got bored. Not only that, but she seemed to have become more reclusive as of late. Always followed around by a couple of those handmaidens of hers. How she had come to disdain the mask she had grown up in, the mask that he wore now. The mask that their children wore.

Anna was off being schooled a segmentum away at Hydraphur naval academy to take over the SDF fleet around Krieg one day, and she was due back either this year or the next. She was a bright young woman, having inherited the distinctive Shreider features she was indeed a striking young woman bound for greatness like all of his children. His children. Hans opened his desk and took out his photo album, and looked at his children. So many lost over the years, so much lost potential. He missed them all dearly. Their faces looked accusingly up at him.

He shouldn't be feeling like this, shouldn't be dwelling on this. A true Krieger would not dwell as he was now, but here he was mourning his lost children alone in his study, like some criminal looking at contraband. He shut the book after one last look at his departed children.

When had he stopped being a good Krieger? After his first? No he had accepted that as part of serving the Emperor. His fourth? Maybe, but that still seemed a little soon. He sighed wearily, for once feeling old. He still looked and felt like a young man, except for the large amount of memories and baggage that he carried around with him wherever he went. So many memories, how did inquisitor manage to live for hundreds in not a thousand years and not go insane?

His other son Able, well the boy wasn't a warrior. All he did was sit in his gallery all day and paint. His work was good, brilliant even. He was smart too, oh so smart. But if he died Able would be forced to join the Korps unless Erich took his place.

Erich, like him in so many ways. He was handsome even if he didn't know it, skilled as a warrior, skilled in the arts, on horseback, a perfect son a model image of him in every way. A son every and any father could want, yet he could hardly stand to be next to him. He loved him and dearly, but there was that space, always that space between them. He was an untouchable, one who disrupted the warp in which every living person was a part of. Which meant that even as he repelled the warp he repelled other living people as well.

"My lord, your presence is requested by the baroness." Hans jumped out of his chair, drawing deliverance from his hip holster and aimed it squarely at the unassuming handmaiden standing politely of his desk, periwinkle blue eyes stared back at him, a small smile on her face despite the fact he was pointing a bolt pistol at her. Where had she come form?

He hadn't heard her come into his study, and he was a trained soldier with decades of experience, there was no way she should have been able to sneak up on him like that. No way at all.

"My lord is there a problem?" she asked all too innocently.

"No," said Hans lowering his bolt pistol back down to his side and holstering it. "No problem at all."

"Very well then I will take you to the Baroness now, please follow me."

"I will come after I have readied myself, tell the baroness that I will be along shortly."

"I'm sorry,but I cannot allow that the baroness was most clear in her instructions you are to come immediately."

"You cannot allow that? I am Grand Lord Baron Hans Von Shreider Lord General or all Krieg ground forces and 38th Patriarch of the Shreider family. If I deem it necessary for the baroness to wait she will wait and I won't have some puffed up little servant girl fresh from the vats tell me otherwise. Do I make myself clear servant?" said Hans advancing on the girl and towering over her with his height and size.

For once she looked unsure and even a little fearful that she had stepped over a line her mistress couldn't protect her from.

"Of course my lord, I meant no disrespect I will inform the baroness immediately. Good-day." She curtsied and left the study quickly. Hans couldn't believe it. How was Helena thinking that she could order him around in his own home? Not an option? What was that, he had always treated her like an equal, always. The power was going to her head and he had to put a stop to it. Tonight after the ceremonies he would confront her about it and put a stop to it. He would take a more strategic role here on Krieg and help coordinate the movement of troops and strategies instead of leading them. It was far past time where he settled down and spent time with his remaining children and hung up Gottandammerung for a while. Until the next Shreider had use of it.

Hans walked over to his desk and locked the spirit stone in the top drawer. That was another thing he had to take care of at some point. Hide it where the inquisition wouldn't find it. Hans grabbed his greatcoat and left his office, heading to change into his formal attire for his sons ascension into adulthood.

Erich was buttoning up his cufflinks on his suit jacket when Elisha showed up at his room with her mask on escorted by the two grenadiers he had sent to watch over her.

"My lord," she said in a monotonous voice. "I am here to take you to your ceremony please follow me." Erich donned his formal white dinner gloves and followed her out with the two house guards falling in close step behind them.

"Elisha I am sorry, please I was angry when I said those things I didn't mean them." Elisha remained quiet at his side as they walked down the hallway. "Please answer me, do something anything."

"I wouldn't want to do anything that could displease you lord, I wouldn't want to be turned into a servitor for doing something that you didn't like." Erich turned to the guards escorting them down the hallway.

"Leave us." They departed wordlessly walking ahead of them in perfect step their heavy boots sounding their departure.

"Well lord we are alone now, are you going to do with me as you will? As you said I am owned by you so if you choose to take me against the nearest wall, that is more than in your right. Do you wish for me do doff my clothes or would you prefer to do that to me instead?"

"Elisha don't talk like that, you aren't talking like yourself."

"Aren't I? Do you know how I think? How I tick? What makes me, me?"

"Please don't be like this."

"Be like what? I am your servant I am doing nothing but telling you what you can do. Have I offended you? If I have by all means punish me as you will." Erich didn't answer, all he did was stand very still.

"If you are done talking my lord then we must really be on our way, you mustn't be late for your own ceremony."

Erich moved with the speed that all his rigorous hours of training and life on Krieg had bred him for. He was on Elisha in an instant.

Elisha braced for the worst, but instead on an assault or being taken against her will, she was pulled into a tight embrace against the young Krieger.

"Please Elisha you are all I have, even if I can't have you I can't lose you. If I could take back all those terrible things I said I would but I can't. I just want things to be back like there were when you cared about me and I for you. I don't want to be alone."

"Erich, are you crying?"

"No."

"Erich look at me." Cold lenses met Elishas eyes as she took off her mask. "No I mean really look at me not through the mask, but at me. Erich took off his mask to reveal a tear streaked face.

"I never stopped caring for you, and you hurt me yes. You made me angry at you yes, but I never stopped loving you. I will never leave you alone, you will always have me by your side I will always be with you."

"Do you promise?"

"I give you my word." Erich broke into the faintest of smiles.

"Then I have an oath to make to you Elisha. I swear that I will fight any foe that intends to do you harm. I will strike them down like I would any enemy of the Emperor. I will fight till the flesh is ripped from my body and my soul leaves its mortal shell. If at any time I fail in this oath I will not rest until the perpetrators are made to pay. This I swear on my honour as a Krieger and as your friend."

"That is a lengthy oath."

"I meant every word of it."

"Well then come my little Erich, tonight you become a man." For the last time Erich held her hand as a child as they walked down the halls of the Von Shreider manor.

The ceremony was unusually boisterous for Krieg, but with the high amount of off world lords come to curry favour with the heads of the Von Shreider line, but only able to make small talk for the briefest of moments with the young lord who was to one day become head of the Von Shreider family. For the most part he was secluded to the head table in the ornate dining hall as the nobles ranging from rogue traders who needed a lord generals blessing to take salvage off of embattled worlds, ecclesiarchial bishops with their Sororitas bodyguards who wished to try and sway the young lord to giving more support in the holy crusades that absolutely needed to be waged. To old friends who had served with his father for years and wanted to wish his son the best of luck.

Hours passed by in a blur of brightly coloured clothing, fine food and even finer drink. A light haze of iho smoke covered the banquet hall, much to the distaste of the sororitas who stood at their bishops sides. Statues adorned every conceivable nook and cranny of the room. They were of saints, adeptus trades and past famous Shreiders and dominating all in a three story statue was the Emperor himself at the far side of the room looking over all those before him. There was an empty space next to him, only the faintest traces that another large statue had once stood beside him, rumours that it had once been of Horus abounded, but no evidence was ever given to support it.

Throughout the whole of it though, was Elisha, sitting by Erichs side, not in servants clothes, but the finest clothes that Erich had bought for her in his ill conceived attempt to woo her. It was shimmer silk, woven by the finest artisans worlds away and it was a silver to match her hair, and it caught the light like a million diamonds. No one outside of the Shreider estate knew she was a servant and many assumed that she was a visiting noble of some minor merchant that the young lord had taken a fancy to. Those not to inebriated by drink noticed that her hair was the same colour as those of the other servants but in the interest of not offending the young lord, they refrained from asking any leading questions.

The lights dimmed at one point, and it was time for the ceremony to begin. The Lord Baron himself would be the one to administer the rites personally.

"Friends, honoured guests, and comrades I have fought together with on countless battlefields welcome to a very special occasion. Today is the day that my son becomes a man. This is a very important day in his life as it marks the beginning of his journey as a full fledged member of the Von Shreider family. There will be a great deal of privileges bestowed upon him, but also a great deal of responsibility placed on his shoulders as well. He will be tested in ways that none of us can imagine and face obstacles that will seem impossible to overcome. He will be forced to make choices that will not only test him martially, but test him at the core of his faith. I cannot see the challenges ahead of him, but if he's anything like his father it shouldn't be a problem."

There was some muffled laughter at the joke, but it quieted down quickly enough for him to continue with out too much of a pause.

"Back when I came of age, to those who can remember it." more laughter followed. "I was given a gift, a companion with which without I would have fallen long ago." Hans drew Gottandammerung and spun it expertly doing a series of sword techniques that was quite beautiful to watch in the dimmed light as if he was drawing intricate designs around himself. There was loud applause and cheering at this from the assembled nobles. Hans stopped the display and held the sword at a position of salute.

"Now I cannot give him Gottandammerung as it is my sword, but I can give him one of his own." A servant carrying a long polished wooden case in his arms came in. "Fresh from the forges of Mars, made by the fabricator general himself, a blade worthy of a Von Shreider. As of yet it is nameless, but one day I hope it will have served my son well enough to have earned a name. Erich if you could come up front please."

"Good luck," said Elisha just loud enough for Erich to hear. He walked up to his father with as much poise as he could muster and how he had been taught to walk by madame Fernette, but he still felt like he was doing it wrong. He walked up up to his father who was in his full uniform, armour and all.

"With this sword do you swear to uphold the honour of the emperor and protect his Imperium to the best of your abilities?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to fight with honour and dignity, presenting yourself as a respectable member or Imperial society and an example of all those who meet you?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to defend the weak, the sick, the helpless, the innocent of this Imperium until your dying breath so Emperor help you?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to hunt the xeno, the witch, the mutant, and the heretic wherever you may meet them?"

"With every ounce of strength I do." The sororitas nodded in approval of this statement.

"Then by the power passed down to me from Jurgen himself I name you Erich Von Shreider minor baron of the Von Shreider family. You may claim your sword."

The servant opened up the box and displayed a beautifully crafted sword with a golden coloured guard, but a jet black sheath and handle. The handle inlaid with while gold wrapping around it. Erich took the sword and secured it to his belt. Another servant came out of a side passageway this time carrying a cherry red poker with the Von Shreider crest glowing brightly on it.

"Roll up your sleeve Erich." Erich rolled up his sleeve to his shoulder exposing his pale arm.

"With this I mark you forever as a full member of the Von Shreider family" Hans pressed the red hot brand into his sons bicep just below the shoulder and with a hiss and the smell of burning flesh, Hans withdrew the poker to reveal the Shreider crest branded on his sons arm. Erich refused to cry out in pain and had even managed with great difficulty to keep his face from showing pain beneath his mask. "Rise and be recognized my son."

After that the party went to dancing and more drink was brought out musicians playing classic Imperial songs got the party going in full swing. Erich was forced to dance with several noble girls, some pretty, some not. They were as eager to get away from him as he was from them though, but even still it was some time before he was allowed to stop dancing and take a break. He looked for Elisha, but he just couldn't find her no matter how hard he searched. He eventually slipped out of the festivities looking for her.

Elisha was actually back in her servants clothes, the baroness stripping her of her position as caretaker as soon as Erich received his brand marking him as an adult. Her dress had been taken from her and no doubt disposed of, which was a shame because she had really liked that dress. If the Baroness thought she could continue to bully her though she had another thing coming. With Erich sworn to defend her and her sworn to stay by his side she wouldn't be able to do even a tenth of the nasty things she probably wanted to do to her.

She was carrying a pot of tea and cups on a silver tray that the baroness just had to have apparently the drinks being served at the festivities not nearly good enough for her tastes. She was passing though a common room with a fireplace and high bookshelves in it when she stopped for a little break, leaning against the wall and adjusting her dress to fit more comfortably. She saw one of the many silver haired butlers walking across the far end on the room like he had a rod shoved up his rectum. Once again comfortable, she stood upright careful of the tea and prepared to go on her way again when she saw something odd.

It was like a liquid shadow fell from the roof behind the butler. She stared curiously as the shadow seemed to stalk the butler just behind him. Elisha thought she was seeing things, so she shut her eyes tight then opened them again hoping to dispel any imaginary visions she might be seeing, but the shadow was still there. Then it reached out and killed the butler. A hand stifling his screams as a flash of steel came across his throat and he fell in the low light of the common room. Elisha dropped the tea set.

The expensive cups and pots shattered on the hard stone flooring, spilling hot tea all over the floor. Elisha didn't even notice as she stared at the shadow, it noticed her. How couldn't it? It began to move towards her and she felt her heart hammer in her chest as if it would burst out and start running before she did. Before she could turn and run, she caught a glimpse of her foe.

It was humanoid in appearance, but far too tall and graceful to be human. It wore a dark green armour and a wicked yet elegant looking knife in its hand as it approached.

"Xeno," Elisha half whispered it like a prayer as she felt a wave of terror she hadn't dreamed imaginable come over her. It could clearly see her and she could clearly see it. For every step it advanced, she took one back too scared to do anything else. It wasn't long before she backed into the cold etched stone wall behind her. Out of room. It stopped a short ways from her and pulled out a sword that crackled with energy. A power weapon. It rushed towards her and she screamed, throwing up her arms to shield herself.

With a clang of swords she opened her eyes. A pulsing blue powersword was holding the xenos blade at bay a hairsbreadth from her face. She looked to the owner of the blade. Erich.

Even with his mask on she could feel the grim look of determination that he had on underneath it. For the briefest of seconds he and the xeno stared at each other before pushing apart and then rushing together just as quickly. Elisha watched as the swords moved like blurs, blue pieces of dancing fire twisting and darting around each other.

Elisha had watched Erich spar before, but this was different. While she had seen him spar to hurt his opponent before, this was more than that. In this he was trying to kill his opponent and his opponent trying to do the same to him.

The xeno jumped over a horizontal slash and attempted to behead Erich as it landed behind him, only to be blocked at the last instant, then Erich twirling away like a ballroom dancer as the xeno tried to skewer him on his blade. More blows were exchanged, with fluid footwork that looked like they were dancing around each other moving in perfect harmony acting and reacting to the others moves. Elisha wasn't sure how to read xeno body language, but if she had to guess she would have to say that it was surprised that Erich was able to keep up with it and keep fighting.

With a bold lunge, Erich managed to stab the xeno through its forearm, but it left him open, wide open. The xeno countered with a quick slash that took Erich across the chest, just above the stomach. It looked deep. Erich staggered back as blood splattered on the floor and his formal clothes began to darken. The xeno prepared to finish Erich off while he was wounded and unable to defend himself.

"Come on Erich I believe in you, you can do this!" called out Elisha to Erich as the xeno lunged. He seemed to find some inner reserve of strength and met the xenos lunge with one of his own and they passed each other in the air, power blades swinging. They landed each facing away from each other and held that pose for what seemed like and impossibly long time. Then the xeno fell, in two. Erich fell too, leaning heavily on his power sword as it dug into the ground before he could deactivate it.

"Eli..Elisha. I swore I would keep you... keep you safe... even if the flesh... was stripped...from...my very...bones." Erich fell to the ground fully, the power sword clattering to the ground beside him A dark pool began to spread out from the young lord and Elisha rushed over, tearing a strip from her dress and tying it over the wound across his chest and stomach. It staunched the flow of blood, but only just enough. She sheathed his sword and picked him up, mindful of his wounds.

He was heavy and he was dead weight, having lost consciousness from the grievous wound. She carried him down the empty halls looking for help, but finding none. Fearful of calling out, but knowing that it was the only way to save Erichs life she took the chance.

"Help! I need help! Someone has tried to murder the barons son!" She continued calling out, until she saw sister Freya emerge from a small communion chapel in her full rose pink power armour.

"What is this? What's going on?" demanded Freya as she emerged from her small chapel. Her eyes fell on the bleeding lord slung over Elishas shoulders. "What happened to the lord?"

"Xenos! They're inside the manner they killed Humphrey and tried to kill me. Erich killed it, but it hurt him bad. We have to get him help and quickly!"

"Alright give him to me, we have to warn the others," commanded Freya taking Erich from Elisha and slinging him easily over her power armoured shoulders. Freya trained to detect even the tiniest movements and be on guard for attack noticed a shadow slinking closer towards them just out of reach of the lumo globes shining dimly this late at night. "Out of the way!" she commanded shouldering her holy bolter and unleashing a fusillade of shots at the xeno which twisted and danced out of the way of the holy shells. The entire time they were falling back down the corridor.

When the bolt clip ran dry she switched clips with easy efficiency and continued firing. One cannot fire a weapon in the Von Shreider manor for long without consequence though, and soon the pounding of heavy boots made itself known as four house guards rounded the corner behind them and advanced firing their new hotshot las guns on fully automatic. They were a new weapon in the Von Shreiders arsenal and not all the guards had one yet, but these ones did. The xeno was fast but even it couldn't outrun light. It was shredded by the concentrated fire of the grenadiers and the sororitas.

"The perimeter has been breached, sound the alarm!" called sister Freya running while carrying an unconscious Erich with her. On of the grenadiers raised a hand to the vox comm in his helmet then lowered it a moment later.

"Signals are being jammed, I can't get through to anyone."

"Then we make it to the hall and warn the Lord General," said Freya. The grenadiers eye optics glowed a faint red as they switched on their preysight, dispelling the dark as easily as flicking on a light switch.

The house guards admitted them without even a moments questioning as they saw the wounded lord being carried being carried by a fully armoured battle sister. They burst into the dining hall and all merriment immediately ceased.

"Xenos!" called Freya at the top of her lungs. "They are here and have already tried to claim the young barons life on his ascension to adulthood. To Arms! We must defend ourselves!" The Lord General quickly ran over to them.

"Erich."

"He killed a xeno that was going to kill me," said Elisha quietly beside him. Hans gave her the quickest of looks before turning back to his son.

"Get the 408th up from the lower levels now!" ordered Hans to a nearby grenadier. "Rouse the house guard, get the guests to safety, get my family to safety now!" He turned to another grenadier with a rank insignia.

"Captain 26, bring your men with me I need to retrieve something now!"

"At once my lord," responded the grenadier obediently, a troop of grenadiers rushing after the Lord General as he left the dining hall and rushed out. The House Guard began ushering people to safety, when the lights went out. Emergency lighting came on, alarm klaxons blared and it was pandemonium.

"Hans ran down the hallways greatcoat billowing out behind him as he ran, flashing red lights illuminated other house guard preparing to hold hallways and setting up defensive positions. He ran past them all, his personal guard of grenadiers following hot on his heels.

Hans burst into his study and went straight for his desk. Forgoing using the key he swung Gottandammerung down and cleaved a section of his desk off and ripped out the drawers looking. The soul stone was gone. The one thing that could end this battle before it started was gone. He tightened his hand around his sword just as the first sharp cracks of las gun fire made sounded in the surrounding hallways.

Elisha helped carry Erich down the hallways as beams of las fire and returning monomolecuar disks streaked back and forth with the occasional violent explosion of a grenade. They were heading to the high speed tram station that would spirit them away to safety. A press of meidcae orderlies and grenadiers were helping escort Erich to the tram station. Freya having been separated from her in the massive confusion and was now going through another route with the baroness to the tram station.

Every hallway they passed was alight with weapons fire and vicious combat. Five thousand Death Korps troopers were making their way up, but until they got their, it was up to the house guard to defend them and they were buying them the time they needed to escape with their blood.

"How much farther is it?" demanded Elisha as they pushed Erich along on a grav stretcher.

"Not far, just a few more junctions and we're there," answered a grenadier seemingly unbothered by all the death and destruction around them.

They had to skirt several bodies of xenos who had made it past the lines and the grenadiers who had died making sure that they didn't stay there. The smell of blood, iron, cold stone, sweat, and death was in the air along with weapons discharges and it was an intoxicating bouquet of smells that left Elisha feeling sick.

They finally made it to the tram station, but their way was blocked by a large blast door emblazoned with the Von Shreider family crest. A grenadier ran up and began inputting the code that would open the doors and bring them to safety. The other grenadiers formed a protective circle around the door, their preysight watching the dark corriders as if it was daylight, detecting the body heat of any who attempted to come down the hallways.

A group rushed around the corner and they almost opened fire, only to realize that it was the lord general and his personal troupe of grenadiers. He rushed to Erichs side and gazed at the life support monitors.

"How is he?"

"Well lord if we get him to a well staffed medicae facility shortly he might just make it." With a whoosh, the large blast doors opened and they rushed in, the grenadiers keeping them covered until the last of them were inside. Just before they shut the doors, the baroness and a wounded handmaiden came through and the door slammed shut behind them.

"Where is sister Freya?" asked Hans.

"I regret to say that the xenos took her just as they took the rest of my handmaidens." Blood dripped down the arm of the remaining handmaiden as she clutched her hurt arm with her good one. Elisha let out a wail of pure grief.

"Get to the tram, hurry it will need time to warm up the machine spirits are old and need time to be roused." Erich was the first on, pushed on by the medicae staff followed by Elisha the baroness, an assortment of other servants who had come with their group and nobles as well as a couple of houseguards. The rest were coming along with Hans when the firing on the other side of the blast door seemed to lessen considerably and then something slammed into the door, as if a body had been thrown into it. Hans looked at the door, before looking back to his family. His other son Able also amongst the group present.

"Captain 26."

"Yes my lord?"

"Make sure my family gets to safety, I will hold back whatever is coming along with the rest of the houseguard. Take another four men and guard my family with your very lives."

"But my lord, I could stay and man the defence while you escape it would make more sense to-"

"Don't argue with me, just go!"

"Yes my lord, no harm shall come to your family I swear it."

"Helena my love, watch over our children. Don't let any more of them die to this unforgiving galaxy."

"Don't worry, I will take good care of our children. Be strong my love, Emperor be with you."

"And you my darling."

Hans and upwards of fifty grenadiers with a mixture of hotshot and Hellguns took up position in front of the of the thick blast door weapons aimed directly at it, waiting for the enemy to come storming through.

"Whatever comes through that door, just remember that you are sons of Krieg and that we shall fear no enemy for we are those who atone."

"Through death," chorused back the grenadiers.

"Every battlefield we tread."

"The path to release."

"Every enemy we fell."

"An offering to the Emperor."

"Every drop of blood we shed."

"The price we pay," finished the grenadiers finishing the age old pre-battle rite. Gottandammerung seemed to stir as if it could sense a new foe, one as old as it was, if not older. Deliverance was aimed rock steady at the door, ready to end any xeno with a well placed shot. Fingers tightened around triggers and for a second the world seemed to stand still, before it exploded.

The heavy blast door blew inwards and streams of supercharged las shots lanced through the smaller doorway, felling many eldar in the opening volley and keeping them out. Deliverance barked its defiance sending bolt after bolt into the mass of xenos. This wasn't their tactics though, something must be driving them to the point of recklessness to do a full frontal attack like this. Grenadiers fell too though, by shuriken fire, monofilament wires or even blades as they braved the storm of las fire climbing over their own dead. A blur moved among the grenadier killing many even as they lobbed grenades into the press of bodies in the doorway.

Hans locked blades with the xeno and got the briefest look at it before he was put into the most gruelling duel of his life. Jain Zar, the phoenix lord of the howling banshees.

She threw a spinning blade at him which he fired Deliverance at managing to knock it off course from his head, but instead it carved a bloody trail through his shoulder, then she was upon him. He had never moved so fast, never had an enemy move so fast. He blocked more on instinct and raw training rather than actual duelling skills. He couldn't believe it, they danced around each other, each of his blows avoided with the tiniest of gestures while he barely managed to block hers and in many cases taking wounds. Several grenadiers attempted to gun her down only to be eviscerated themselves.

Just a few moments, just a few moments more Hans told himself like a mantra throwing himself into the fight like a berserker throwing everything he had into the duel, every ounce of training, strength and skill he had accumulated and that had earned him the title blade master of Krieg. He was like a novice before her, but he did not receive the wound till after the tram left. With a cheerful beep, the trams machine spirits signalled they were ready and the tram left at dangerous speeds accelerating out of the station in a matter of milliseconds.

Hans fell heavily to his knees, his wounds finally taking their toll and his grenadiers dead or dying. His armour and cloak in tatters, bleeding freely from too numerous of wounds to count and yet he smiled, his mask long since lost in the melee.

"I've won Jain Zar, even though I will die, I have won. My family is safe and soon 5000 of the emperors finest will see to your end." He smiled with bloodstained teeth as he spoke in her language. How does it feel to lose?"

"Fool you have doomed us all," and then the sword fell. The plumed helmet of a Lord General of Krieg rolled across the loading station and Gottandammerung fell clanging mournfully for its master as it flickered out on the hard ground.

It was on that night, That Lord Baron Hans Von Shreider Lord General of all Krieg ground forces and the thirty eighth patriarch of the Von Shreider family died. With a smile on his face.

AN: Well I think that was pretty good, and I know that Erich got a little touch feely, but he was spoiled for a good nine years by an offworld nanny and being the youngest meaning he got the most lee-way. Any help or constructive criticism would be appreicated as I could improve for next time. This is easily twice as long as any other chapter I've ever written. Anything you guys want to tell me or let me know, feel free. Also this is just the beginning, the reason Why Erich does what he does, so expect a lot more, if irregularly updated.


	2. Chapter 2 Duty Bound

**Chapter 2 Duty Bound**

AN: In response to a question I got from a guest, Eldar don't travel using the warp in the conventional sense. They use the webway which gates of it are scattered all over the galaxy, on nearly every world. So they could easily skirt Imperial blockades or pickets, by simply just using a functioning gate left on Krieg or using their superior stealth technology to slip past and land on the surface. Another point in their favour is their farseers and psychic abilities which would allow them to pick a time when it would be most likely to succeed and where. I know I pushed it a bit with them infiltrating that far down, but it is the eldar and something that was more powerful than Krieg security pushed them through and onto Kriegs cold surface, plot. I know that's a little lame, but I needed it to happen so it did.

"No absolutely not, it was your fathers dying wish that you be kept safe from the dangers of this universe and I will not idly go back on my word end of discussion."

After the assault by the eldar on the Von Shreider estate and the demise of the late Lord Baron Hans Von Shreider Erichs father and patriarch of the Shreider family the remainder of the Shreiders had been relocated the governors palace while the mess was sorted out by the Ordo Xenos. During the assault on the estate the 403rd Krieg light foot regiment had tried to intervene in time to stop the xenos, but had found their way blocked by blast doors and airlocks designed to seal the estate in case of a breach. The machine spirits had refused to answer the access codes so despite the protests of the servants of the Omnissiah, the 403rd had used melta charges and blasted their way to the upper levels, far too late to be of assistance in the estate defence or to save the Lord Generals life. The regiment had requested immediate deployment to a war zone to make up for their failure, but currently were being detained and questioned by the inquisition, much to their displeasure. Kriegers are not a people to sit idly by when there are the Emperors enemies to be purged or they feel the need to atone.

The baroness was sitting in an estate room across from Erich and his new personal servant Elisha; being waited on by her one remaining handmaiden refusing to accept any of the governors servants on even a temporary basis, causing the young woman to be on call all hours of the day and night. If the baroness had any displeasure at Elisha being present in such a confidential family meeting then she gave no outward sign of it, instead choosing to ignore her and focus her full attention on her son who had only just recently recovered from his wounds caused from his encounter with the xeno warrior. The room was lavishly decorated with imported furnishings and furniture giving it the impression of being a VIP room from a paradise world rather than one where the people had to eek out an existence underneath cold rock and earth many never ever seeing the surface or a star. A soft beige carpet covered the floor and a rich dark falwood covered the walls giving the room a warm feeling as glow globes gave off a soft light. They sat facing each other in high backed padded chairs of a dark green in colour.

"I am sorry mother, but it is my decision and I will be the one to make it," said Erich resolutely not backing down from the matriarch his mother Helena Von Shreider. He was dressed in formal wear, a stark white dress shirt with a black vest and tie along with fine pants with wing tipped shoes. A gold pocket chronometer with a gold chain looped from his pocket to hook onto his vest, as well as his ever present mask on his face. He was the only one in the room wearing one.

"You are too young to make a decision of this magnitude, I forbid you from joining the Korps and that is the final word that we will speak on this matter. If you wish to join the PDF I could have that arranged. You could serve as you feel the need to and still stay close to home where we can best deal with this crisis, but that is the extent of it," finished Helena brushing an imaginary speck of dust off of her rose red conservative dress. She was dressed in open topped heeled shoes and had an application of makeup that was undetectable, bringing out her natural features making her all the more striking.

"Mother you know as well as I do that one member from every family is required to serve in the Korps at any given time if there is a healthy member able to, regardless of reason or circumstance. It is my duty as well as my obligation to join and fight in the Korps for the glory of the Emperor and his holy Imperium. I am a legal adult now and I bear the mark to prove it, so I will do my duty regardless of your feelings on the matter."

"Don't patronize me, I know full well the laws of Krieg and its Korps do not forget whom my husband and your father was, I know more of the Korps than you could learn in a decade. Able is the eldest male and he will join the Korps as is proper. If a time comes when it is necessary for you to join the Korps you shall, but not before it is absolutely necessary for you to do so." Helena held out her hand to the side and a glass filled with amnesiac was quickly put in its grasp by the servile handmaiden at her side. Dark bags hung under her eyes like heavy weights and she seemed barely awake, the added workload taking its tole on her. Helena took an experimental sip of the drink as if deciding whether or not it would merit her approval allowing consumption. After a moment a dark scowl came over her features and she spat out the expensive drink onto the carpet by her feet.

"You stupid girl! I said Brendans finest, lightly aged with a hint of drought berry and flame berry mix. This is Brandons finest with ice berry and flame berry mix lightly aged." She thrust the drink back into the unprepared handmaiden, causing it to spill and nearly fall to the ground before being caught by the silver haired girl.

"I'm very sorry baroness, I'll make it again please forgive my mistake," said the handmaiden busily trying to refill the glass with the proper vintage.

"What are you doing you silly little wretch?" demanded the baroness causing the handmaiden to jump again. Fearful of her mistresses wrath.

"I-I am filling your glass with the proper vintage your ladyship."

"The same glass girl, the same glass! You might as well be giving me runoff water from the sumps. The flavours will mingle and ruin the entire texture. Are you a simpleton? An ingrate? Or simply too much of a dullard to understand such a simple task?"

"No your ladyship, just with the added work I have become tired of late and I have been unable to get the proper sleep I need to perform my duties."

"Are you saying that your mistakes are _my _fault?" demanded the baroness now turning in her chair to face the handmaiden.

"No, no I would never suggest such a, what I meant was...please forgive me baroness." Helena eyed her coldly for a long moment, causing the handmaiden to shift nervously under her intense gaze before turning back to face her son.

"Completely useless, why did the incompetent one have to survive?" she gave a light chuckle before noticing the disapproving look on Elishas face. "Care to say something servant?"

"No milady, just that Ingrid is doing the best she can having to wait on you hand and foot day and night. I was just thinking that you should be a little kinder to the people whom you owe your way of life to."

"What was that?" demanded Helena in a deadly low voice. "I didn't hear you, speak up while you still have a larynx to speak with."

"I said you should be more kind to the people you depend on your ladyship and threats will not make me change my answer," said Elisha with steel in her voice. Her near brush with death making the baroness seem infinitely less intimidating.

"You insolent piece of vat waste! I'll have you thrown into the ruins of the old world for your disobedience!" said Helena vehemently rising from her chair. "But first I'll have the magos biologis cut out your tongue, put out your eyes, and shut out your ears so you will wander blind, deaf, and dumb through the wastes so you cannot even repent to the Emperor before you die! Then I will make sure that not even a fragment of your bones can be recovered leaving your soul to forever wander the wastes." Despite the graphic depiction of what was to become of Elisha, she stood her ground.

"That still won't change my answer."

"You wench, I'll-"

"Mother I'll thank you not to threaten my servants, it ill becomes one of your status. I will discipline Elisha at an appropriate time, not when we are discussing matters of such importance as this. She has overstepped her bounds and will be punished accordingly I assure you." Helena seemed to deflate with Erichs words and as the anger seeped out of her she sank back into her chair.

"Yes, yes I have not been myself of late. With your fathers untimely demise and you wanting to go into the Korps, it has left me unsettled. Forgive my lapse in grace, you are right it does not become one of my position. I have been taught better than to argue with a servant, I am better than that." A hard look crossed Elishas eyes, but she said nothing further.

"I know mother these are trying times for us all. I am still trying to come to terms with it myself, but I take solace in the knowledge that he has repaid his debt to the Emperor in full and even now stands by his side in full glow of his light."

"Yes I know that is exactly what he would have wanted," said Helena mollified. A change came over her features as if she had remembered something that she had forgotten.

"Where's my drink?" she demanded turning to her handmaiden in a cold rage, her anger not having found a full release. The handmaiden quickly filled a new glass full of the correct liquor and almost seemed to be pleading the baroness to remember that it wasn't her who had spoken out of turn. The baroness grabbed the offered drink and sipped it her anger simmering just below the surface like a well made stew.

"You're not joining the Korps, she said stiffly."

"Mother you know as well as I do that Able is no soldier. He spends all day in his studio painting and sculpting so unless they intend to have him paint romanticized pictures of war all day, he won't last long in the siege regiments. I will still have to go and fight once he dies the only difference being will be that there will be one less Shreider in the galaxy." Able had taken to his fathers death as he did everything else in his life, with quiet acceptance. Though he seemed to have thrown himself into a new project of late, excluding everything and everyone hardly stopping for meals or rest. He acted as a man possessed, completely consumed by his task and work. As if the Emperor himself had given him the task that he now worked tirelessly on. He was grieving, but in his own way. Their sister had yet to be informed of her fathers death and was even yet either finishing her graduation ceremony, or on the return voyage from Hydraphur naval academy. How she would react was still unknown, no doubt having changed in her time away from the grey touch of Krieg. Erich had taken the loss of his father, and subsequent wounds as a direct insult to his family, feeling a cold and unending anger towards the xenos, the enigmatic eldar.

He trained endlessly, long hours of weapons drill, marksmanship and hand to hand consumed his days; his only companions were the training drones and Elisha watching silently from the side. The eldar, come to strike down his father on a night of celebration to throw the Korps into disarray. Even now, segmentum command was looking to see if their was a good of candidate for leadership as the long serving and decorated Lord Baron Hans Von Shreider, also known as Lord General 01. The Korps was unshaken though, prepared for such a loss and the command structure without an absolute commander was far from crippled. The eldar, the word turned sour in his mouth when he spoke it like some bitter fruit left out to spoil. He would not let this trespass against his family allow to go unpunished, he would show them that a Krieger, a Shreider, would not simply take this laying down. He would get vengeance for his family, for Krieg.

"I will exempt you from service, Emperor knows we have enough power to do such a thing. I merely have to talk with the board of generals and explain the situation to them, they will understand or lose the support and funding of our house."

"But mother the shame that would bring, think of how people would talk, what they would say," said Erich completely aghast at circumventing the sacred duty of the Korps. "How the Emperor would look down on us for such an act, it is inconceivable that we would, nay that we could even consider such an act."

"Erich you are not listening to me," said Helena in a very serious tone of voice that would have passed for impassioned on Krieg. "You can't join the Korps, they would find out." She said it conspiratorially like a juvie trading secrets under the play set.

"Mother what are you talking about? What would they find out?" To the best of Erichs knowledge there were no secrets worth finding out about his family.

"Erich you must listen to me, what I tell you must never leave this room. You must promise me Erich, promise me that you will never repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone else. If I have your word, I will tell you why I do not want you going into the Korps." Erich sat for a long moment unmoving before he gave his answer.

"No, I will not swear secrecy to a secret that I do not know the answer to. I will not be deceitful without a just cause. Tell me this reason and I will judge its merits accordingly. Helena seemed

about to scold her son before realizing that she no longer had the authority to deny him anymore and getting into in an argument with him would just lead to him joining the Korps anyways. She let out a heavy sigh as if she had just received yet another piece of troublesome news that she now had to deal with, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger before continuing.

"Erich I know that you are an adult now, but you are still so very young. Just accept my judgement this one last time I beg of you and do not join the Korps, it will end poorly for everyone involved."

"Why?" asked Erich simply.

Helena let out yet another long low sigh and took a large gulp of her drink before answering.

"You are an untouchable Erich." The secret that had been a dark spot on the Shreider family now out in the open.

"A what? I can assure you mother I am more than capable of being touched," said Erich gesturing to the hidden scar beneath his fine clothes. It had healed quickly with the accelerated healing available from the medicae with the Shreiders money. It would heal into a thin scar no more than a few millimetres wide, but travelling the full width of his torso just above the stomach at the base of the ribs. It could have been made to heal nearly invisible, but Erich had chosen to keep it as a momento of his first combat. Also privately to remind himself that he had adhered to his oath and protected Elisha.

"No no, not in that way," said Helena waving off Erichs rebuttal like she would at the seamstresses if they had brought out a dress she found displeasing. "You are psychically untouchable, that is the reason why you wear that bracelet, it is a limiter." Erich stared down at the offending bracelet, and a look of surprise drifted across Elishas features. The bracelet and its purpose finally revealed made the barely noticed piece of jewelry seem oddly heavy and unwelcome.

"Am I, am I a witch?" questioned Erich causing the handmaiden at Helenas side to take a half step back before a look from the baroness stilled her. As feared and reviled as psykers were in the Imperium, she feared the baroness much more than those touched by the warp. That in itself said something of the baroness. Whether good or bad would depend on the person that you asked.

"No, in fact you are the complete opposite of a witch. You see what an untouchable is, is in fact one who negates the touch of the warp. A witch would be powerless to harm you unless they were to do it by traditional means with a gun or a blade." Which was what any regular citizen of the Imperium thought to worry about anyways, but knowing that someone couldn't set you alight with a thought or rip you apart piece by piece with their mind was somewhat comforting. "A physical touch from you would be painful to them or uncomfortable in the extreme, same with daemons from the warp. It is like their minds are fires that generate their abilities and you steal the air from them. You would render their unnatural abilities moot and useless."

"This seems like a gift from the Emperor," said Erich at length. "Why have I not been sent out to join the ordos? I am sure that they would have use of someone like me." A look of distaste seemed to flicker across the baronesses face, but it could have simply been a twitch of her jaw as she sampled the amnesiac she sipped from time to time.

"I'm sorry, but the ordos? What are they exactly?" asked Elisha confused and like most people of the Imperium having only a limited or no understanding of what exactly the Inquisition was. Many heard wild stories of near omnipotent figures that were immortal and armies of astartes at their beck and call. Others still heard stories that they were simply puppets controlled by the Emperors will and were used to judge them. Others still heard nothing at all.

"The inquisition servant, that is what they are," replied Helena without even looking at her. She was still trying to show that her servants were beneath her and she wouldn't acknowledge them if at all possible any more than necessary. Though she was contradicting herself by talking to Elisha, but she was on her second glass that Erich had seen and more besides if her gait had been anything to go by as she had entered the room.

"What the inquisition, they're real?" asked Elisha paling. "But I thought that they were just a story made up to keep us in line. I know Paladonia had an Inquisitorial presence a long time ago, but it was just told that they were a special police force acting under emergency power. To know that the stories are true, how much power do they have actually?" she asked slightly awestruck at the prospect that some of the more extravagant stories were true. That and slightly fearful. In Paladonian legend it was said that the Bell Tower of Reckoning would ring six times a day six times if the Inquisition ever returned to their world, also know as the tolling of doom. Or bells of doom for conversational purposes. The number six being significant as that was the number of legs that both horse and rider possessed together.

"Enough to burn a world if they see fit," answered Helena grimly still not looking at her. "Inquisitors answer only to those within their order and to the Emperor himself. They wield absolute power in the Imperium that slaves and lords must answer to equally. Even the fabled astartes must heed them, despite about how they feel of it." Which wasn't that great and in many cases chose to ignore the inquisitors unless they felt that the cause was worthy or the reprisal was significant enough.

"Then why is it that I have been kept from their service?" asked Erich. "It seems like the best way for me to put my skills to use would be to join them and aid them in whatever way I can. I know that Inquisitorial work is dangerous, but I am more than adequately skilled to defend myself if the need arises and a death serving an inquisitor seems like a fine end to meet."

"Erich, there are many things that you simply do not understand yet. Things that you mustn't understand until the proper time. I have invested too much into you to lose you at this stage in life. You have yet to come into your full potential that will make a mark across the whole galaxy that it will never forget. To risk losing you now, when those dreams could still be realized would be an irrevocable tragedy. Years of planning and painstaking work have gone into you, far too much for you to simply die." Helena was in a tipsy state and was rambling as all those who become tipsy are prone to do and like some of those people, sometimes they say more than they meant to.

"What do you mean that I haven't come into my full potential yet, that I am going to make a mark on it that it will never forget?" Erich sat straighter in his chair if that was at all possible a pole seemingly replacing his spine, holding him perfectly erect.

Helena seemed flustered for a moment realizing that she had been rambling, saying more than she had meant to.

"Just that your father was a magnificent man who did things to shape the Imperium that countless generations will owe him for yet never even know his name. I see the same in you Erich, I see the same man that your father was inside of you. All of my hopes and prayers, the very thing I know dwells within your soul hidden for now will one day come free and change the Imperium as we know it." She smiled as if at a hidden joke only know to herself, the corners of her mouth quirked up ever so slightly. "I know it will surprise even you when it makes itself known."

"I appreciate your faith in me mother and that you see me serving as well as my father, but that is why I wish to join the Korps. If I have such great potential as you seem to think that I do then what better place than the guard? I have learned much in my time at the estate and have learned a great deal under father Emperor rest his soul, but in order for me to reach my full potential as you said then I must be tested as father was tested. As all sons of Krieg are tested. If I am to be found wanting than I will have come short in your expectations, but if I triumph then I will be all the better for it. The guard will make me stronger, temper my soul, make me the man you see me to be."

The entire time that Erich had been talking Helena had been sipping her glass and draining the third one of the conversation. She held it out to be taken away and gestured that she had had enough for the time being, wanting her wits about her as she tried to dissuade her son from his present course of action.

"Erich how many friends have you had over the course of your life?" asked the baroness seemingly picking her words carefully as to not have them misinterpreted as rude.

"I have had many acquaintances over the years, I have met regularly with the Richters children in sparring and my fencing lessons. The Kochs have always been steadfast riding companions and the daughter of the Kessels has practised many hours with me in the musical arts," said Erich taken off guard at the unexpected question and giving the names of people whom he had spent the most time around.

"No Erich, I mean people whom you could rely upon to help you in any situation, those who would aid you no matter the circumstance. Can you honestly say that they feel a close bond to you and you the same?"

"No," said Erich seeming to lose a portion of his stature.

"Then I will ask again Erich do you have anyone who would stand by your side when you needed them, give you unwavering support even in the face of death and certain destruction? Can you name a single person other than me or your departed father in all this universe who would do this for you?" asked Helena with the air of a scholam instructor asking an absent minded pupil an answer to a question that he knows the pupil doesn't.

"Elisha would," said Erich in a subdued tone of voice. An indecipherable look came over the Baronesses face like a ripple in a small pond and just like that ripple it was gone before you could properly study it.

"I mean besides those who are paid to and cling to you for your status." At these words Elishas eyes flashed and her face began to colour as her slender hands tightened into hard fists barely restraining the anger at the baronesses words. Any more and she would do something that even Erich couldn't protect her from.

"Elisha, can you check and see if my laundry is done? It is in the far sanitation room, a few minutes walk from here." A look of confusion spread across her features, before understanding broke through like a light in the dark.

"Of course Lord Erich, I shall be back when the laundry is ready and won't be such a mess." Elisha walked quickly to the far doors and opened one of the crystal handled doors to leave.

"Such a dullard, didn't even remember the task you gave her immediately," said Helena to Erich. Elisha stiffened in the doorway for a moment, every muscle taught under her maids dress, like a bowstring ready to snap. Which in this case was very much similar.

"Lord, the laundry might take a while so I may be gone for some time. When it is done I shall return and be ready for any future tasks." Elisha said it in a tight voice as if trying to keep a much sharper tone from slipping through and lashing out like a commissars whip.

"That will be fine, take as much time as you need." Elisha left walking as straight as her spine would allow and shut the door very gingerly behind her.

"You really do spoil her far too much," said Helena matter of fact to her son. "If you let a servant believe themselves your equal than that is exactly how they will act. They are beneath you and I Erich, much like a servitor is beneath a regular citizen. In fact I would use servitors if regular servants weren't marginally more intelligent."

"A servitor is an insult to the dead, once a soul leaves its body it should be put to rest, not have its body put to work to do menial tasks," said Erich with more feeling than a Krieger was prone to show unless angered. Servitors, indeed as well as even skull probes or any piece of Imperial technology that used human remains in its operation was reviled on Krieg and was as close to social taboo as one could get to on a world where all were expected to fight and die for the Emperor. The need to atone was ever prevalent, and it was believed that once Kriegers' died in Imperial service, the sins were wiped clean form their souls and all mortal burdens relinquished as they were granted the Emperors peace.

To continue making them serve as a servitor was to deny them their rewards earned through a lifetime of service, no matter how short. The fact that Erich had threatened Elisha with it made him disgusted with himself to his very core and every time he thought of it a hard ball seemed to form in his stomach and disperse metallic claws which tightened around his torso, especially around his stomach. It was a strange feeling, much like the one he had felt when he had made Elisha cry. It was also unpleasant, but that in itself was good. It helped him know that it was wrong.

There was the odd exception to it though, as there is with every rule. A particularly brutal or unrepentant criminal could still be made into a servitor, in order to make up for their crimes that were believed could not be atoned for in their natural life span. This thankfully was seldom done, a death by banishment to the wastes was usually deemed an appropriate enough punishment, where the slow and extremely painful death was thought to be enough to cleanse them of their sins. The towering dunes of toxic ash could still be found, constantly being given new girth as the industrial foundries of Krieg pumped out mountainous amounts of pollution to create new weapons of war for its Korps. The fires of the forges were said to be able to be seen from orbit. Assuming there was a break in the dense cloud cover of ash and irradiated water vapour that is. Dark towering clouds that rose kilometres above the grey lifeless surface of Krieg. The spirals of pollutants reached heavenwards like twisted hands giving devotion to the Emperor, pleading for salvation and forgiveness for their transgression. The pitted and lined surface of Krieg like that of a flagellants back, wishing repentance through self punishment. Then there were the vat born.

These were a different case entirely, not reviled at all, but given the greatest respect even if kept at a distance from the rest of the populace. Vat born were voluntary members approved by the magos biologis whom believed they owed a never-ending debt to the Emperor and were determined to serve until the end of time. They gave freely their bodies so that they could be born again and repent, hundreds, thousands, millions of times over. They denied themselves their just reward and were seen as a martyr for the people. Vat born were put in separate regiments going in before even the regular Kriegers, so that they could be the first to die under the enemies guns yet again. Once the gene template of the person was seen to have done more than its duty, it would be discontinued allowing the provider to finally be at peace. Their name inscribed in the great halls of memory, on the very walls of Jurgens crypt room. It was an honour few received, even among the template regiments. It was said that in the end of times, in the final battle. Those with their names inscribed on Jurgens walls would stand by him as his personal retinue, even as he himself stood beside the Emperor. Such was the reverence of those given the honour. Though they were still considered barely human, merely copies of the original. With each passing generation, more and more of the cloning halls became silent as their ancient machine spirits gave up their age old struggle and joined the omnissiah. Despite the many rituals of the adeptus mechanicus, and their tireless efforts to appease the machine spirits they were simply too old. Their technology unable to be replicated or understood. It was said that the last hall would fall silent when the walls of Jurgens crypt could take no more names. Their true names, not numbers.

"I know that, it was merely idle conversation nothing more," said Helena realizing her slip of the tongue. "But back on topic, there is a reason that you have never had a friend, a companion, a comrade. It has to do with your untouchable nature Erich."

"What does being an untouchable have to do with me being socially unable to flourish?" asked Erich eager to finally understand the reasons for all of the unwarranted scorn he had received over the years. To finally understand simply why people felt such a strong repulsion to him.

"To be an untouchable is to reject the warp and all of its power. It is like you cast a dark cloud that pushes all psychic power or potential away from you, which like I said can strip daemons and psykers of their power in an instant."

"But that is good isn't it? I mean I should only reject those touched by the warp, not those whom are not. Are most people just a low enough level of psyker not to be considered a threat by the Imperium and left alone?" asked Erich searching for a brighter answer than the one he knew was true.

"Erich we are all touched by the warp, it flows through every living thing. Our minds, our souls, all of us contribute to making the warp what it is. Every lustful passion, every kindness we've ever done, every spark of anger all fuels the warp. We shape it just as it shapes us, it is one of the only truths in this universe."

"Mother that borders on heresy," cautioned Erich remembering his long conversations on theology with late sister Freya.

"Be that as it may, it is still the truth. You see we all have a connection to the warp, while you do not. You are an anomaly, a blank spot in this world. All souls interact in some form or another, but your soul is buried, shielded by your untouchable abilities locking all connection to the warp away. You will be reviled wherever you go, shunned as if you were a repentant. I have tried to shield you from this your entire life, but it will always be. People will feel uneasy around you, fearful, angry, or find you incredibly pompous or degenerate. It differs from untouchable to untouchable, but every person without exception will feel this way towards you."

"Mother, do you feel this way towards me?" asked Erich hesitantly.

Helena nodded solemnly. "I do, it makes me feel like a terrible mother, a failure in my duty to raise you, but I do. I love you, I really do, but when you are near I feel the need to retreat, push you away, scream, yell as it feels you intend to do me harm."

"But I would never do such a thing," said Erich shocked at the very idea of it. The idea of raising a hand against his family repulsive in the extreme.

"I know that you would never hurt me or anyone else who was a loyal servant of the Emperor, but I still feel it all the same." Erich rested his head on his hand as he let the information sink in. He would be an outcast, a pariah to everyone he met. He cast his gaze to the supposed limiter on his wrist.

"Mother, is the limiter broken or why do people still fear to be around me?"

"It is not broken, it just as its name implies limits your unique gift." Erich brought his arm up so that the silver bracelet was level with his face, pulling his sleeve back to reveal it.

"If I were to take it off, what would be the consequence of that?" A look almost like horror seemed to spread across the baronesses face.

"You mustn't ever take it off! If you were to to that all psychic activity within a five mile radius would cease to function. The feeling of unease and resentment towards you would intensify to a degree where if you so much as coughed near someone it could cause them to try and kill you," Helena was leaning forward in her chair trying to drive home the seriousness of the matter.

Erich began turning it slowly around his wrist as if it would spin free or be absorbed into himself if he did it long enough. He did it in an almost bored fashion.

"If I can not serve in the Korps, and I cannot work with other citizens of the Imperium, it almost sounds like I am useless. If my life is to be without purpose and I cannot redeem through service in the Korps than I will simply present myself to the inquisition and join their ranks. If what you've said is true and what I've been taught is true than I would be far more useful as a shield against the creatures of the warp than to hide beneath Kriegs skin."

"You mustn't go to the inquisition it would ruin everything!" exclaimed Helena rising from her chair, nearly knocking back her hovering handmaiden with her quick ascent, but knocking down the bottle of amnesiac to be drunk thirstily by the beige carpet before what was left was salvaged by the silver haired servant. "I have spent too long on you to simply have it thrown away by some errant decision of yours!"

"Mother if I cannot join the Korps than to the Inquisition I will go. I do not care what plans you have for me I will not sit idly by and be a leech on the underside of the Imperium. They will know what I am there and be able to properly deal with me. They will understand me, accept me, I will have a place in this universe. I know that even now an inquisitor resides somewhere in this estate. I will go present myself to him and ask for forgiveness for not doing so earlier. All this training I have done, all of my learning will finally be put to use. I am sorry if my decision displeases you, but it is mine to make," said Erich rising from his chair and buckling on his powersword. It was the last gift he had received from his father, the last time he had spoken to him, the last time he had seen him alive. It was a marvel of Imperial craftsmanship, made by the fabricator general himself in the holy forges of mars itself. Yet, it was like a toy compared to Gottandammerung that was even now held in the family vaults awaiting a time for a member of the Von Shreider family to have need of it. Erich would have need of it, but it was meant to be wielded by a member of the Death Korps, not a member of an inquisitors retinue. It was meant for open battle in the hand of an armoured soldier fighting the innumerable enemies of the Imperium. For a warrior, not a spy or a thug who clung to the shadows like a thief in the night.

"Erich stop, I need to explain this in greater detail. You still do not understand the significance of this."

"There is no more need for words and I understand perfectly well," said Erich heading for the door. "I had planned to serve in the Korps, but it seems that my limiter is insufficient for me to do so. This being the case, I will serve in any way I can. I will find atonement one way or another."

"I can get you a better limiter, one that you can use in the Korps," said Helena having run out of options. Erich stopped short of the door, his hand still reaching for the handle.

"You can do that?" questioned Erich mistrustful of the late declaration.

"Yes I can. Not immediately of course, but within a matter of weeks I can get you a limiter that should be sufficiently powerful to make it so as long as there is no direct skin on skin contact you will not be reviled. There will still be a sense of unease around you that will exist no matter what, but it will allow you to interact on a reasonable level with other people."

"I could, be normal?" asked Erich unable to keep the hope from showing through in his voice.

"No," said Helena shaking her head regretfully. "But you will be able to serve in the guard. I am sorry, but this is the best I can do."

"Is there no way to remove this...taint permanently then?"

"The only way would be to expose you to enough warp energy to burn out your untouchable quality, but it is a part of you. Removing it all at once could kill you from the strain, not to mention the long term exposure would more than likely corrupt you or cause a calamity. A slow exposure on the level necessary to remove it would be noticed by the inquisition and we would more than likely killed for dabbling with the warp. Assuming that we could even generate the power to do it. You are simply too powerful for us to do it safely. Assuming it is even safe to do so. As I have said, it is an integral part of your being. Removing it could be, traumatic."

Erich studied his hands turning them over and flexing them as if his own body had betrayed him and if he could find the source of it then remove it he would be fine.

"But I will be able to serve?" he asked as if cementing the fact he could join the Korps needing to hear it again to make sure he hadn't just imagined it.

"Yes you will serve Erich." He nodded as if in approval.

"Then that is what I will do," said Erich almost like a vow.

"I think that we have talked enough on this for today Erich. I feel weary from all this talk and I think I may just go and lay down for a while. Why don't you go and find that little maid of yours? I'm sure that she must have gotten lost by now."

"Yes I will go and find her, I bid you goodbye mother." Erich left the room and headed off in search of Elisha leaving his mother and her handmaiden alone in the room.

"Maiden," said Helena after seeing that her son had departed.

"Yes your ladyship?"

"What was discussed in this room will remain confidential and it will be a secret that you will take to your grave, am I understood?"

"Yes baroness I know my place, I will not repeat anything I have heard within these walls."

"That is good, because if you even thought of saying anything," said Helena looking over her shoulder back at her servant. "You would never stop screaming. Now clean up that mess on the carpet and wake me in four hours for dinner." The baroness departed the room leaving a very scared handmaiden to clean up her mess.

Elisha had been creating a rut down a deserted hallway some way from Von Shreider room blowing off some steam from the baronesses words. Erich had noticed her anger and concocted the fake task for her to be able to leave the room as to avoid an incident. He seemed to be able to pick up on when to do something to avoid a scene, but sarcasm still seemed to fly right over top of his head.

How dare she say that I only stay around him for his status! Thought Elisha angrily. She had raised Erich, not her. She had been the one to encourage him when he was pushed to his limits, not her. She had been there when he had been left alone most days, not her. She had been there for him when he needed someone to simply show they cared, not her. She was the one who loved him, not her. The last thought caused Elisha to stop in her tracks for a moment. She really didn't know if the baroness did love her children, but it certainly didn't seem like it. She had more than enough free time to go and see them, write to them, something but she never did.

Maybe she just wasn't capable of expressing it, being from Krieg. She was certainly jealous enough of the affection that Erich showed her so maybe she did, but just didn't know how to show it. Come to think of it, the little half smile was the closest she had seen the baroness even get to a smile. But even that had seemed malicious in nature. Elisha checked her wrist chronometer. She had been out of the room for over ten minutes and if she didn't get back quickly enough the baroness would probably be snide or just a plain bitch to her again. Then again being late probably wouldn't change that.

Elisha cast her gaze over the hallway that she had been trying to make a trench out of by walking up and down for the past while. It had a golden rug covering the length of it and a white waxed marble flooring. The stonework on the wall was decorated with Imperial symbols and statues decorated the length of it in small crevices in the wall that they called home. It was another extravagant display of wealth, with what seemed like gold plated trim boards running the length of every wall. If she ever had to go back to Paladonia and her old life, she would probably be bored by the simple wooden decor common to her home planet. Paladonia.

Elisha let her mind drift back to her earlier years and her childhood. The long open pastures a deep green that herds of horses would run free through for most of their lives. The young foals and colts with their mothers, the newborns on shaky legs. The smell of leather and horse ingrained so heavily into the people that it might as well of been the smell of sweat. The feeling of galloping, of riding under Paladonias open blue skies and endless fields of grass bringing a wave of nostalgia over her. She had loved riding, loved Paladonia and the union between the horse and rider. Every horse having its own quirks and behaviours, and the bond that eventually formed was just so precious. For a moment she wasn't on Krieg, but back on the open steppes of the eastern grasslands riding to her hearts content, feeling every twitch, every movement of the horse beneath her. Just as quickly though the feeling was gone and she was back in the hallway filled with recycled air from hidden vents keeping them all alive.

Maybe she could get Erich to let her go riding sometime on one of the horses in the stables. She swatted the idea away like an annoying fly. The horses on Krieg weren't natural. They were beasts genetically engineered to survive in the harshest of environments, lungs that pollution couldn't harm, blood that wouldn't shrivel and die from radiation. More machine than an actual animal. They just stared blankly with dead eyes. No quirks, no personalities, no bond, just a form of renewable transportation. Oh how she longed to be under wide open blue skies again with a Paladonian sired steed beneath her. Not some death rider monstrosity.

"Excuse me miss I was on my way to the bathroom and I got lost, could you point me in the right direction?" Elisha pushed down the rush of irritation she felt at being pulled from her fantasies and put on the trademark humble demeanour of a servant.

"I'm sorry, but I am not a servant of this household. I am a servant of the Von Shreider family and we are just visiting the governors palace briefly. If you return to one of the main hallways than you should be able to find someone who can direct you to a washroom," said Elisha basically telling the man that no she couldn't take him to the bathroom and politely frak off because it wasn't her problem.

He was an average sized man, but he was anything but dressed average. He wore a long brown duster coat that fell below his knees with faded leather boots that went up into the duster, with spurs on them like a Paladonian dragoon would wear. He wore a wide brimmed brown hat that was pulled low over his face and only the barest traces of tinted specs could be seen on his face. From what she could see of his skin, he was tanned and slightly weather worn like the herd tenders on the Paladonian steppes. Long black hair fell over his shoulders from under his hat and he was smoking an Iho stick that smoke drifted lazily from into the air from.

"You know, you do have really pretty hair you know? It's a nice colour, but not entirely natural to you though is it?"

"Excuse me?" asked Elisha stunned that this man would have the indecency to comment of her like he was sizing her up. The man sauntered up to her, spurs jangling as he took long sure strides towards her.

"A gene treatment right? I can see that there are a few small scars beneath your hair on your scalp. Guess it was too much trouble to simply make you dye it right?" Elisha self consciously touched the near invisible scars hidden beneath her hair.

"I don't know who you are sir, but it is improper to talk to a lady so, even if they are a servant. I would kindly ask that you refrain from making any comments of that sort in the future," said Elisha as politely as she could manage, but her patience and tolerance for the man running very thin.

"Don't get your panties all up in a bunch miss priss, it's not like I asked to squeeze your tits or anything though they are quite nice if I do say so myself," said the man staring appreciatively. Elisha was beyond stunned, her mouth forming a small O of disbelief at what the man had said. That he had dared to even say it. Had he no manners, or even a shred of decency? Her face began to colour out of a mixture of embarrassment and rage, her mind still too stunned at his audacity to make any coherent action. Though she eventually found her voice.

"You cur, you would dare say that to a lady? Were you raised in a stable or are you just a brigand with no respect or decency?"

"My those are some pretty mean words, I think that you hurt my one and only feeling," said the man bringing his hands to his heart in a mock gesture of hurt. "Have you spent so much time waiting on these pampered inbreds that you've forgotten how to curse? What I said would pass for a friendly greeting in most other places in the galaxy, I even gave you a compliment didn't I? You're even blushing for me too, how sweet."

"You, you," sputtered Elisha unable to put a retort together in her outrage.

"Then again, I've always been partial to hair myself," said the man grabbing some of Elishas hair and letting the silver tresses slide between his fingers. "Don't know why, but I like the more exotic colours and it's so long how do you manage it?" said the man in a conversational tone. That finally pushed Elisha over the edge. She had been forced to relinquish most of her dignity, pride, freedom, how she dressed, her manner of speech, how she walked, ate, entered a room, sat, stood, but the one thing she would not relinquish was her hair.

"You frakking bastard!" snarled Elisha as she put all the power she could behind a punch that took the man below the eye knocking his shades free and causing him to stagger back letting the golden tresses fall back into place. "Listen up you little shit, you've insulted me, embarrassed me, and really frakking pissed me off. No one touches my hair hear me? No one. It's the one thing I have that's mine and no one elses'. You try and touch it again, or any part of me again, or even think of talking like some drunk bar lecher to me and I'll knock your crooked teeth in. How's that sound Mr. Horse Frakker?" To her surprise the man actually laughed, long and loud throwing his head back while he did so. Eventually he turned his head down wiping tears from his eyes before answering.

"Now there's some spunk, I thought there might be some backbone in there, and the cussing too," he said appreciatively. "Horse frakker? That's inventive, I think that I might even use that myself sometime. Then again, it's been my experience that blondes are a bit more feisty than other women usually. Also usually better in bed, though that's harder to check and I fear almost impossible in your case. Almost," said the man as if he could actually entice her into his bed.

"I didn't do this for your amusement, you off world piece of shi- wait. How did you know that I used to be a blonde?" asked Elisha perplexed.

"Well I was curious so I decided to check," said the man as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Elisha glanced back at her hair wondering how he had known that it had once been the colour of grain instead of the metallic sheen it was now. She let out a startled noise as her eyes fell on a streak of blonde hair, boxed in on either side by silver. Hair the colour of new grain. She took it in her hands and inspected in like a vendor does silk, to see if it is indeed the correct quality and there are no flaws.

"How, how did you do that?" asked Elisha looking at her natural hair for the first time in nine years. She cast her eyes up and took a startled half step back as the man was directly in front of her and far too close for comfort. She could smell him at this distance, like a dusty arid trail mixed with old leather, horse sweat and something else. Something that she couldn't quite place, an almost metallic smell, but organic at the same time. Then she looked into his eyes and her blood froze in her veins. Without his tinted ocular specs, his eyes were revealed. A blood red that seemed to glimmer and swirl like they were made of a fiery liquid, actually glowing a faint red. Born from an unnatural internal light. They were hypnotic, but in their depths it seemed that madness dwelled as if they were an ocean of insanity that you only had to look once into before you were hopelessly trapped. Like the waves of depravity would crash over you as they drew you in promising you the world as you drowned and then they crushed you claiming your soul.

Elisha tore her eyes away and looking at the ground beat a hasty retreat backwards, only to run into something soft yet hard at the same time. She turned around and he was there he was, staring at her like a predator eyeing his next meal.

"It's rude to leave when someone is talking to you Elisha, and here you are the one lecturing me on manners. Tsk tsk, and you called me uncultured," scolded the man, if that was what he was, in a mocking tone of voice.

"How do you know my name? What are you?" asked Elisha her heart hammering so hard in her chest it seemed deafening in her ears, seeming to beat so loudly that everyone in the entire palace could hear it.

"You have a strong heart you know? It has a nice beat to it, that's good means that your healthy and strong. Should live for a good long time if you look after yourself and seeing as how you still have your curves under that dress it shouldn't be a problem."

"G-get away from me daemon!" said Elisha trying to sound firm, but her voice wavering slightly.

"Now now daemonhost is the proper term to use. I wouldn't want to be a regular daemon, too many mouths and tentacles for my liking. I like the more human form, makes me nostalgic. And what's this now? Your voice is shaky, what happened to the spunky little maid who accused me of bestiality a moment ago?" Elisha couldn't speak, couldn't turn and run, but she had the presence of mind to scream so she did. Or at least she tried to.

She drew the air into her lungs, but before she could let it out a hand cold like that of a corpse, with fingers that ended in what looked like fearfully sharp claws clamped over her mouth killing the scream in conception. The claws pressing lightly into the flesh of her cheek.

"Now why would you scream?" asked the daemon good naturedly. "If you did that I would have to rip out your pretty little throat and you wouldn't want that would you?" The daemon turned her head left to right in an exaggerated gesture of no. "You want to keep living right?" The daemon bobbed Elishas head up and down like an adviser for a governor. "So I'm going to let you go now, and you're not going to scream okay? If you do that, I get to see if my claws are still sharp. Ready? One, two and you're free," said the daemon removing his hand like it was all just a big game, showing manic glee in his actions. Elisha just stood there like a startled rabbit, drawing in sharp short breaths and cold sweat beginning to bead her features.

"You know I wasn't being disrespectful intentionally, I was just bored so I decided to go wandering and you didn't seem to be too busy walking a rut into the hallway so I came for a chat. Then you had to hit me and it all snowballed from there. You see I'm with Inquisitor Charles and he's not the best conversationalist. Quite smart for an old bastard, but he can be so dull at times to be around. Not at all the best of company or the most appealing. Oh I'm being rude again aren't I?" said the daemon, a look of light bashfulness striking his features as he smiled apologetically, revealing teeth more like fangs filed to needle points.

"Here I looked into your mind to find your name and then I get into a conversation with you without first telling you my name. My name is Phear, bound daemon and all around scoundrel, but loved by the ladies. So I'm free pretty much all day, anything you want to talk about?" asked the daemon as if Elisha was his friend and he was genuinely interested in her well being, and all her minor hurts or secrets.

"Please don't kill me," said Elisha trembling slightly.

"Yes I know, why do people always say that? It's always spare my family this, or you killed my father that. It just gets so dull some times when people just ask for the same things over and over and over. Sometimes I just rip out their heart before they have a chance to say it, because it just annoys me so and then if they do say it I have to sit there while they prattle on about how I'm evil and they're good so they'll triumph and it will rain puppies and lolly pops or some shit like that, said Phear in a mocking way as if to say that it was just utterly ridiculous that he had to put up with it. "So I usually end up killing the talkative ones immediately, but you I like. You just sit there looking pretty and listen while I talk just like a good joy girl would after a lay, but without the benefit of being paid," said Phear as though it was a compliment holding Elishas hair in his hand and letting it flow between his clawed fingers, turning a golden colour as it passed through. The silver disappearing as though washed away like dirt from her hair and it finally coming clean.

"Oh it seems that I pressed a little too hard," said Phear as a little bead of blood formed on Elishas cheek where his claws had previously been. He reached forward and daintily picked it off her face with a clawed finger and brought it to his mouth where a far too long of a tongue emerged and sampled it as if it was fine wine.

"See I knew that you were healthy," he said almost triumphantly. "And you taste so good, just the right amount of minerals and nutrients. I knew that you looked after yourself."

"Please let me go I won't say anything I swear," said Elisha pleading wanting to run, but a part of her knowing she wouldn't make it. Phear let out a disappointed sigh.

"See that's another thing that they all say that irritates me so much, it just makes me want to tear them to pieces." He, if it could be called a he, brought his hand to her breast to better feel her overstressed heart. "Do you think I could take your heart out fast enough for you to see it beating before you died?" he asked squeezing his hand lightly around her breast. "I've done it before and I've heard that-oh and you've fainted," declared Phear as Elisha did what anyone terrified beyond belief would do, her brain shutting down to avoid dealing with the traumatic experience. She fell backwards like a felled column, but a gloved hand caught her and lowered her to the ground, blonde locks forming a blanket for her on the golden carpet, her hair defined by the blue silk ribbon tied in to keep it together.

"Well that's a downer, but I guess it's to be expected. Looks I was right though, they were nice," said Phear appreciatively flexing his hand. "Well maybe next time little birdie we'll have time to play," he said as he felt the seal binding his soul to Charles begin to warm on his chest, signalling that he was wanted. "Always wanting me when I'm in the middle of making a new friend," he said almost regretfully. He could ignore the call if he felt like feeling as though a molten metal bar was being forced through his chest and burning him alive, in agony that couldn't even be imagined. "Oh well until next time," he said waving cheerfully to the unconscious Elisha as he departed.

Elisha was floating on a soft cloud of hazy dream stuff, half aware of what was going on around her yet still asleep. It was a semi lucid state neither asleep nor awake, drifting between the two as a patron at a restaurant struggles to pick their dessert from a large selection, each looking equally as good. Finally though her body made a decision and she fell into a deep sleep. She would have remained this way much longer if not for a rude house guard deciding that a servant asleep in the middle of the hallway breached safety protocols dictating her a fire hazard, that and nobles tended to frown on people sleeping in the hallways. Unless of course it was them after having had too much to drink at one of their lavish parties, which on Krieg were admittedly rare unless hosted for off-world clientele.

"Miss, you are blocking the main thoroughfare of the hallway, I am going to have to ask you to move." He got a light sleep moan as response as people asleep are tend to make. He nudged Elisha with his boot lightly in the side causing her to swat at his foot. "Ma'am you do need to wake up," said the house guard nudging Elisha over with his boot so she rolled slightly.

She woke with a start, eyes darting around the hallway as if desperately searching for something.

"Where am I? Why am I on the ground?" She asked the questions in quick succession still groggy from sleep, more speaking to herself than expecting an actual answer, but like all good Kriegers the house guard took the questions literally and answered her in short order.

"You are in the western quarter of the governors palace in the subsidiary hallway leading to the sanitation and cleaning rooms. As to why you passed out on the ground, I can only assume it is from your heavy clothing and the broken climate controls in this sector of the palace." It was indeed hot, almost uncomfortably so, especially in the heavy dress of a Von Shreider maid. A light sheen of sweat shone of her forehead and spread across the back of her neck.

"Oh, um, thank you," said Elisha politely to the far too literal guard. He was dressed in the standard Death Korps Uniform, but with a predominate colour scheme of red and gold.

"Do you have any idea miss, why you ended up on the floor at all?"

"No, I don't," said Elisha her memory fuzzy and faded leading up to her encounter with the house guard. The last she remembered was that she had been pacing the hallway thinking of Paladonia.

"Can you find your way out of here on your own?" questioned the house guard having strayed from his patrol route to wake her and eager to return to it.

"Yes, I can, thank you for your concern, but I should be fine from here on."

"Very well miss have a good day," said the houseguard departing and leaving her alone again. Elisha checked her wrist chronometer and to her shock found that she had been absent for over half an hour. She took off at a quick walking pace, passing more statues and devotional icons causing her to stop and make the sign of the aquilla several times. She wasn't an overly pious person, but it helped to have the Emperor looking favourably on you.

She rounded one of the many sharp corners meant to aid in the defence of the palace, much like how the Von Shreider estate had been and nearly ran into Erich.

"Excuse me," he said trying to make his way around her. Elisha smiled thinking that Erich was trying to play a prank on her.

"Erich, where do you think you're going? Am I not supposed to accompany you wherever you go? I am your personal servant after all." Erich stopped dead in his tracks, in a posture of what could only be described as a stance of pure surprise.

"Elisha?" he said in an unbelieving tone.

"Last time I checked, that was my name or did it change when I wasn't looking?" asked Elisha coyly.

"What did you do?"

"Well after your mothers _comment_ I went and blew off some steam. Wandered around for a little bit, had a nap and I must say, thank you for getting me out of there. Who knows what I would have done if I had been forced to remain in there with that, your mother," corrected Elisha biting off the harsher adjective she wished to use.

"Your hair," said Erich sounding dumbstruck.

"I know, I know," said Elisha in a placating manner. "It's a little messed up right now, but I should be able to fix it without too much of a problem once I get back to my room."

"I should hope so, if mother were to see it like this she would be most upset. I hope you can get it back to its proper colour shortly." A puzzled look found a home on Elishas face.

"What do you mean proper colour?" Instead of answering her, Erich turned her so she was facing a mirror in one of the alcoves scattered throughout the palace. Everything looked fine, her dress was still clean despite her time on the floor. Her shoes were unscuffed, her hair...Elisha did a double take on her hair. It was blonde again. After nine years, it was its natural colour again. She pulled her long mane of hair from behind her and inspected it. The mirror wasn't lying, it was its natural colour again. Like new grain the blonde hair stared back at her. The baroness was going to be pissed.

"If mother sees your hair like this, she'll take it as an act of defiance against the family. Possibly banish you for it," said Erich gravely.

"But it's only hair, I didn't do anything," protested Elisha.

"Then why did you change it?"

"I didn't do anything to it!" said Elisha hotly. "I was walking in the hallway, got overheated and fainted, then I run into you and find out my hair has somehow gone back to how it was before I became a servant."

"Elisha I know that my mother made you angry, but this is going too far. How long until the dye comes out?"

"It's not dye for thrones sake, I already told you I don't know how this happened."

"You expect me to believe that?" questioned Erich.

"It's the truth, have I ever lied to you even once?" demanded Elisha drawing herself as tall as she could, hands on hips. Even still, she had to look up to talk to him.

"No," admitted Erich.

"Then believe me when I say that I don't know how this happened, I couldn't do something like this even if I wanted to." A thought seemed to cross Elishas mind and she went back to the mirror lifting her bangs and looking at the scalp underneath.

"The gene treatment scars, they're gone," said Elisha in amazement. "Like it never even happened." Elisha let out a cheerful laugh. "This is great, it's finally mine again! Not the baronesses, not Kriegs, I finally have something that is completely mine again!" Elisha let out another happy giggle. "This is great," she declared doing a small twirl to see her hair follow her like a golden stream in the mirror.

"But we have to change it back, or else you'll get in severe trouble," warned Erich. "You're still a servant of the Von Shreiders and tradition demands that it be silver in colour," said Erich sternly.

"But I don't want to change it back I like how it is," pouted Elisha holding her hair protectively in her arms and nearly glaring at Erich. Holding her hair like it was a newborn baby that needed to be protected.

"You serve the family, and family law states that any servant who is bonded in service to the Von Shreider family must undertake the gene treatment as a show of loyalty and dedication," finished Erich quoting the family codex. Elisha seemed upset at the news, a frown presenting itself before giving way to a mischievous smile.

"But I don't serve the Von Shreider family, I serve you Erich," said Elisha a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And as _your_ personal servant, you can request anything that you like of me. If you wanted me to, oh I don't know, change my hair to a more pleasing colour, than I would have no other choice, but to submit, and humbly do as you ask. After all, as long as it was you who requested it than it would be perfectly fine and legal by all the family laws," said Elisha advancing a far too bright of smile on her face, her hazel eyes practically twinkling.

"No absolutely not," protested Erich. The smile never left Elishas face.

"So with the idea of making Elisha more easily recognizable and not to be confused with another servant, I had her dye her hair until a gene treatment could be made available," said Erich in his mothers bedchambers explaining the rapid change in appearance on Elishas part.

"I...see, so this was all your idea Erich? You didn't have anyone influencing you?" she said casting her gaze towards Elisha whose head was bowed in a servile manner, hands clasped together in the perfect picture of humble servitude. It chafed at the baroness to no end to see her pretend to be so servile, while at the same time showing the utmost disrespect to family traditions.

"No mother, this entirely my doing," said Erich forcing out the words as his Krieg upbringing practically screamed at him to tell the truth. "I thought that it would be more productive to have her marked as different," said Erich his inner voice refusing to quiet down.

"Well this is a more unusual action, but I suppose she is yours and it is up to your discretion. But tell me, what made you decide to make this change and back to her natural hair colour no less? I am oh so eager to hear the reasons behind this."

"It just came to me, it seemed like the right colour at least and very easy to recognize her from a distance when I have need of her. I suppose that it was a bit more of an impulsive choice," finished Erich nervous that his mother would call him out on his bluff. Elisha had been very persuasive and when she had asked, he just couldn't say no. A part of him still wanted her and when she asked for something he just could not refuse her. His mother gave no sign of her thoughts, merely taking the information at face value neither applauding or condemning it.

"Yes, but with you joining the Korps it hardly seems prudent for you to mark her in such a way when she will undoubtedly need to assume other duties once you are gone. She will have to undergo the gene treatment again and from what I've heard the more mature the person the more painful the operation. Is that not right servant?" asked Helena to Elisha, not deigning to look at her.

"It is a trial my lady, but in duty such things are but stepping stones," parroted Elisha from her teachings, but secretly remembering the procedure in vivid detail. They didn't give you painkillers for it, so you felt every single detail of the procedure. The pain was intense to say the least like pouring burning ice into your skull and feeling it spread to every part of your body. The paradox was the best was to describe it, the pain that is. It seemed to chill you to your core even as you felt it burn to your very soul.

"One I am afraid that you will have to repeat in a few weeks time, assuming that you are still willing to go through with the treatment to make this," said the Baroness finally looking at Elisha and gesturing to her hair. "Permanent. It would seem most cruel Erich, to force her to go through such a painful procedure, only to go through it again in a few weeks time. It could even result in permanent damage. The gene treatments would reject each other, causing a multitude of problems and in some of the more severe cases, death. So I would implore you son, take back this foolish thought before it does more harm than you had intended."

"But mother that is only assuming that I return her to the family in which I have no intention of doing. She has served me faithfully for many years and there is no one I trust more to do the tasks I need done. She has my utter confidence and as the family law states. When a lord must leave their dwelling, in such a manner that the bound servant is not able to come, then they are to wait for their leading lord to return, only carrying out the last instructions of their bound lord."

Elisha bowed her head just a little farther down, to hide her smile. With those words, Erich had just said that if she chose to, she would not have to listen to the baroness at all since she would only have to answer to Erich. It was the closest to freedom that she was ever going to get and she relished how it would irritate the baroness so. Her smile disappeared a moment later though. She had missed the part of the conversation where Erich had convinced his mother to let him into the Korps meaning that she would be alone on Krieg. Senior officers of the Korps were allowed to bring bound servants, but no one started out as an officer. She did not relish spending the next nearly twenty years with the baroness while Erich rose through the ranks... if he survived. That last thought chased away the last of her good mood. He could die in the Korps and oh so easily. Her little Erich.

"But with you gone she technically would be outside of the family structure meaning that she wouldn't have to listen to anyone," said the baroness, it dawning of her that there would be someone in her domain in which she would have no control over.

"I'm sure that she would help out if you asked her politely," said Erich. A giggle escaped from Elisha which she hastily covered up as a cough receiving a deadly glare from the baroness in the process.

"I'm sure that she would," said the Baroness in a tone that made it clear she would rather be a servant herself than ever speak to Elisha as an equal and ask for her help.

"So it is settled than," said Erich. "And if I am not mistaken it is time for dinner is it not?"

"Yes I believe it is," answered Helena giving her glass to her ever present handmaiden, as she rose to leave. "Please lead the way son."

The dinner was nothing spectacular by noble standards, but an absolute feast to anyone else having such delicacies as real meat and natural vegetables. The governor was an old friend of the late Hans Von Shreider and was the youngest male of his family, exempted from duty in the Korps for he had had no sisters. He was a soft spoken man, but had a silver tongue or so Erichs father had said. He had shown good grace in giving the Von Shreiders sanctuary in his palace, giving them the best guest rooms he had for their use. Erich ate quickly and left, citing that he needed to prepare, leaving Elisha behind to finish as her new privileges allowed her to eat with the family if wearing appropriate finery. The Baronesses handmaidens had the same privilege, but as to date they had never been allowed. The baroness ate sullenly, picking at her meal, while Elisha was having a field day with hers completely ignoring the baronesses discomfort and finally eating the food she had had a look but don't touch policy with.

With recent developments, she was a servant in name only and it felt good. Then the governors other guests arrived.

A bald man with a long scar across the back of his head, wearing a simple dark leather coat and evening finery entered the room, followed closely by a man wearing a long brown duster and wide brimmed hat. He wore riding boots with spurs that jangled as he walked, more dressed for travelling long distances on horseback than for an evening meal. He took a seat next to Elisha as a servant practically stepping on his heels set his food down as soon as he had seated himself.

He smelled faintly of leather and horse sweat and it brought forth memories of Paladonia in her and the wide open steppes and clear blue skies. His face was weathered and he wore dark ocular specs the same colour as his black hair, which was revealed to be full as he removed his large hat setting it at his side. The hair looked as if an attempt had been made to comb it, but had given up declaring the task futile. He looked quite nice to Elisha and then he removed his shades, a pale blue like the skies above Paladonia.

"You have pretty hair," he spoke out suddenly to her.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh I'm being rude, it's just that I haven't been in the company of a beautiful woman in a long time and then the Emperor gives me a saint to sit beside." He spoke in a light drawl that reminded Elisha of the eastern grox farmers and she turned to him, her food forgotten.

"You speak quite freely to a woman that you've just met, and quite boldly too." He gave her an honest smile that made her heart flutter.

"I'm sorry if I was rude ma'am, just that being in the presence of a noble lady such as yourself makes me forget myself. I've never been good at talking to people of status and I always seem to just blurt out whatever's on my mind at the time. I didn't mean to offend you at all milady." Elisha let out a small giggle.

"Well I thank you for the compliment, but I am just a servant of the Von Shreider family and I still didn't catch your name, Mr.?"

"Gunn, James Gunn."

"Well Mr. Gunn I am Elisha and it is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine miss," said Gunn doing his best to bow while sitting down causing Elisha to giggle again.

Elisha sat with James for the rest of the meal, her food forgotten and him barely touching his. They talked and laughed, shared stories and tales of where they had grown up and on which planet. Elisha found out that he was a chastenor working for Inquisitor Charles and he regaled her with stories of his exploits, full of dashing heroes and terrible creatures overcome at the very last possible moment. When the meal had ended and the dishes were being cleared away, Elisha rose reluctant to go.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening James, I had a lot of fun."

"I should be the one thanking you Elisha, it was so dull around here. Everyone wearing masks and hardly talking. Where is the laughter, the joy, the love?"

"Well if you have a spare moment sometime, than you can seek me out and we can have all those things that the Kriegers seem to do without."

"Even the last one?" questioned James an enquiring look on his face. Elisha gave a coy smile flashing white teeth.

"Who knows what the future holds? Perhaps we could have all of those things."

"What made you change your hair colour by the way? You said that all servants had to have it a metallic silver."

"Well It's more of a recent change, quite unexpected actually."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it, it's finally mine again," said Elisha holding stroking her hair fondly. "It's the one thing I've wanted for so long and now I have it. It makes me feel so, I know it sounds corny, but happy."

"You're welcome."

A questioning look came over Elishas face. "For what?" James took her hand and gave it a soft kiss.

"For a wonderful evening that I hope we can repeat."

"I do too, come find me sometime later in the week and we can get better acquainted," said Elisha truly wanting to spend more time with James. The pain of Freya's death was still sharp, but she didn't want to end up an old maid. Or marry a regular Krieger. By the throne, there was no way that she was having eight kids.

"I would like that very much, I will see you another time," said James bidding Elisha farewell. He watched her leave the dining hall and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, the whine of servos as the mechanical hand clutched around his shoulder. The augmetic hidden by fine white evening gloves and a leather coat.

"It is rude to use a dead mans charm to try and seduce a lady Phear," intoned a cultured yet heavy voice to whom the arm of metal and wire belonged.

"How many times do I have to tell you Charles? Gunn, Phear, we are the same. No one soul is dominant, we have a mutually beneficial partnership. Gunn gets to live out his dark fantasies with no fear of consequence and garner fame, while I get to sample the pleasures of the materium and get away from those oh ever so nasty beasties in the warp." The daemonhost turned to face the inquisitor to whom his soul was bound, his pale blue eyes giving way to swirling red pools of madness. "There isn't even a real difference between the two of us anymore Charles. Our souls are merging, not destroying or consuming the other. It really is a miracle, but alas, you will never believe us."

"The only words a daemon will ever speak is lies Phear and I will not be fooled by you or your treachery. You have consumed this mans soul and memories, reading from them like a book and quoting from them like scripture. Using them to pretend like he is still alive and functioning in there, but it is a lie just like everything else you say. He is dead and gone, consumed by your Emperor forsaken daemonic waste of a soul." The inquisitor said it spitefully, showing how much disgust he felt for the creature in his presence and the anger he felt at its lies.

"That really hurts Charles and here I thought we had gone above name calling in our partnership."

"You are my servant daemon, nothing more. Do not presume to be my equal or friend for you are neither," said Charles righteous fury in his hushed words. He had lost the very arm that its proxy now held Phear with, binding him. That battle was forever etched into his long memory as well as the absolute delight the creature of the warp had taken in the fight, felling over a dozen inquisitional storm troopers and militant sister Sororitas each, before his eventual defeat and subsequent servitude. Not to mention the wounded or losses of the local enforcers. He did not even look decayed or sickly as other daemon hosts did, instead preferring to keep his host body in the appearance of a healthy man in his prime.

"Oh that cuts deep Charles," said Phear bringing his hands to his chest where the bindings ended in a large inquisitorial I, hidden beneath his clothes and anchored in his chest in a mock show of hurt.

"Not as deep as I will cut if you do not shut your heathen mouth Phear." Phear put his gloved hands up in a position of mock surrender.

"I will be your silent, but faithful and brutal servant."

"I sincerely doubt the first part," grumbled Charles leaving the dining hall, Phear hot on his heels.

"Oh so you do see me as faithful? I told you we had a blossoming friendship Charles," said Phear jovially. "Perhaps we can even begin playing regicide together to while away our evening."

"Phear."

"Yes I know I know, silence is bliss." Charles walked down the hallway followed closely by his personal daemon. Both figuratively and very inescapably literally. Phears footsteps made his spurs jangle down the polished marble corridor, even though his feet never touched the ground.

"It is of the finest make Erich, the art kept secret and hidden amongst the finest artisans for many millennium. Few outside of their order know how to make one like it, I hope you realize how much trouble I went through to get this for you. Please try your best to stay alive, I am running out of children to send to the Korps." Erich was at the private tram station in the capital of Krieg known simply as Alpha Prime. It was lit by droning electro globes suspended from the ceiling by metal wires. The air was cold and damp, like that of a cellar the temperature hardly above freezing with so much heat lost through the constant recycling of air in the tunnels. It had the stale recycled taste of all air on Krieg, but went unnoticed by the majority of the people on the platform.

It was time for a change to occur in Erichs life. The Korps demanded an able body fit for war that was healthy and strong. Erich had such a body to give, one he would give gladly to the Emperor if it meant that he could have even the slimmest chance of revenge against the cowardly eldar. Despite his conviction though, he was afraid. Not only afraid that he would fail in his duty to the Emperor or the blood oath that he had sworn against the savage eldar. He was afraid of leaving his home, of leaving everything that was familiar and safe to him behind. He was afraid of not seeing his family again, they who had raised and sheltered him when he should have been thrown to the Inquisition. He was afraid of never seeing Elisha again.

Despite his words that he simply wanted things to go back to the way that they were, it simply wasn't true. He had wanted the happiness and joy to return yes, but he wanted it to be more than that. He wanted her so strongly, it was like a physical need inside of him demanding to be sated. He loved her. Not as she loved him though like a part of her family, but as the woman he wanted to be his own. Every smile, every laugh, every word made him just want her all the more. She was so close and yet so far, if only he could reach her, if only he wasn't some damn untouchable. Alas, he would not push her away by trying to pull her closer. Erich was cursed with a logical mind, knowing the appropriate thing to do that would end the best no matter what he wanted to do. He wanted Elisha, would have bartered his immortal soul to be with her, but his mind told him it would not be. That it could not be. It told him that he would only destroy the friendship that he had with his only and truest friend.

He was on the platform, greatcoat and light grey dress clothes worn over top of his environment suit. His powersword was buckled onto his belt, a status symbol as well a personal defence weapon. It was the style on Krieg for the nobility to wear finery over the protective suit to show some differentiation. For only the rich could afford to have to burn the fine clothes when they travelled to or near the surface to avoid contamination. His mother was there in simple dress, mask hanging down at the ready, the only other one in the shockingly dangerous state of dress was Elisha. Her long hair feeding down into her environment suit, a protective cowl leaving only her face exposed. She looked solemn and morose, sad to see her young lord depart, perhaps seeing him alive for the last time.

There were a scattering of servants and bodyguards around the platform, several new servants having been inducted into service as handmaidens for the baroness standing behind her heads bowed in subservience. The only one who really seemed to stand out was Captain 26 of the famed Krieg grenadiers. He seemed almost mournful that his men had died while he had fled with the Von Shreider family. He had sworn to protect them though, and a Krieger never went back on an oath. He was to take Erich to be recruited into the Korps and upon Erich signing his name on the dotted line would be free to fight and die as he saw fit in the Emperors name. Erich didn't know if the grenadier captain disliked him for having to leave his men die while he saw to Erich's safety, though he doubted it. A Krieger would follow an order no matter what without question, without doubt or fear. Erich wondered if he could live up to those hefty expectations. He didn't want to be a disappointment, Emperor anything but that.

"Remember son, there are variable settings for the device for how much it does," said the baroness showing a little more caution speaking about her sons abilities despite the fact that it was only servants who could hear her.

A look of sadness had come over Elisha when Erich had relayed the tale of his ability to her. She finally understood the reason for the scorn he had received and the feeling of unease around him. To know that it was a permanent thing, that would follow him wherever he went was a tragic thing. To know that he would most probably be alone for the rest of his life, only living to fight and die was a sad thing. He would be a Krieger in full and die a Krieger in full on the guns of blades of the enemies of the Imperium, there was no middle ground to be had.

"I understand mother, and I know full well how to use it," said Erich. The device was a bracelet of simple silver emblazoned with his families crest upon it. It looked nearly exactly the same as his old one, except that it was a little bulkier. "I will take it off under no circumstances."

"That is good," said the baroness, pausing for a moment as if considering whether or not to continue. "This is what you wish then? A life in the Korps is not an easy one, a life that has a fearfully short life expectancy. I know that you are angry over your fathers death, but you must consider what you are doing. This isn't some idle quest you are embarking on, the Death Korps is just as its name says. To the death, there is no ageing out, no retirement for old heroes. You will die in the Korps Erich, one way or another." The look on Helena's face was as close to concern as Erich or anyone else had ever seen before. She almost seemed to be pleading to him to stay. "It is still not too late to reconsider, simply leave with me. Stay with me and your brother to rebuild what was lost." Captain 26's head shifted almost imperceptibly towards Erich and his mother as the baroness asked him to walk away from his duty, walk away from the Korps.

"I am sorry mother, but I cannot do that," said Erich knowing that if he so much as took one step towards his mother he would leave and never again be able to even consider joining the Korps. "I am committed, there is no other way for me." The baroness sighed in defeat.

"Very well Erich, serve the Korps your father fought for so dearly the best you can, and if necessary may you find your atonement in his light. I bid you farewell my son, I hope that the next time I see you won't be as a number inscribed on the wall in the hall of the Korps." Baroness Helena Von Shreider turned sharply on her heel and left the tram platform, leaving only Erich, Elisha, and Captain 26 behind.

"Captain, may we have a moment of privacy please?" 26 didn't answer Elisha, merely walked to the far end of the platform, boots echoing his every step. Elisha walked up to Erich and embraced him in a hug. "I will miss you Erich, I hope you know that." Her voice sounded strained as if she was holding her emotions in check.

"I know, and I will miss you as well," said Erich wanting to show the same emotion, but finding he couldn't. Only rarely did a Krieger lose control of their emotions in their lives. For Erich it had only happened four times in his life. The most powerful and most recent was with the woman now in his arms that he didn't want to let go of. But even that was locked away inside of him now. He could tell her that if she agreed to marry him he would stay and she would agree, but to what end? She didn't love him the way he loved her and it would be an unhappy marriage for her, and he could not bear the thought of making her suffer a long life of grief instead of a short spasm when he died, for he surely would in the Korps. He would bear his hurt and sorrow inside of himself, do his best to keep Elisha free from it. He had hurt her once, never again while living would he do it again.

"Erich I have to tell you something," said Elisha sniffling and wiping at her eyes.

"Yes?" asked Erich, sounding calm, but nearly bursting with hope. Maybe she did feel for him as he did for her, maybe he still could be happy with her.

"Things are going to be tough in the Korps. They are going to give you a number, take away your name, freedom, your habits, the little things that make you you. They will try to strip you of even your individuality." Erich felt his hope shatter into a million pieces and scatter as if blown by the dead winds on Kriegs surface.

"I know this, it is duty that we do this."

"No Erich, you're not understanding what I'm saying. If you let them take away everything that you are then you become less than a man, less than human. Only a living piece of weaponry, mindless and obedient to do their will."

"I will still have my faith," said Erich trying to defend the Korps and their crushing discipline.

"Sometimes that isn't enough," said Elisha. "You need to find something precious to you and hold it so closely that it will never slip away, no matter what happens to you. They will try to take it from you, but you can't let them, you can't give in. Do you know why I grew my hair so long Erich? Why I gave myself so much more work to do everyday and need to spend so much more money on it? It's because it's the one thing that is truly mine that no one else can lay claim over. I protected it with every fibre of my being, because it was a piece of me. The real me, not the maid, not the servant, It was Elisha from Paladonia. Even then, it's only one of the things that I kept dear to me. Do you know where the other is?" asked Elisha her hazel eyes seeming to penetrate through his mask and into his untouchable soul.

"In a strong box?" asked Erich. Elisha smiled ruefully at him.

"No, it's in here," said Elisha tapping her head. "And here," she said tapping above her heart. "I remembered who I was, what I was. My name Erich, my name and where I came from was what kept me sane all these years and true to myself. You don't know how many nights I would lay there repeating to myself my name and the planet I was from. I was terrified that I would forget, and you know what? It nearly happened, I came so very close to forgetting my own name Erich. The name my mother gave me as I came into this world under the Emperors light. It was so terrifying, I can hardly even describe it. To lose yourself is the worst thing that can ever happen to you. It feels as though your very soul is slipping away, leaving you empty and hollow. No love, no warmth, no joy or sorrow, you become just a thing to do as it's told. I might have lost it still, if a certain little uptight boy hadn't kept pulling at my hand and calling me Elisha instead of caretaker Alpha six." She smiled sadly at the memory as if seeing the one pearl in a black ocean. "Erich when all seems lost and you feel like your hope has deserted you, remember who you are. In the end it will save you." She wiped at her eyes yet again, more forcefully.

"No matter what happens, remember who you are and it will give you strength. Remember that everyone is a person, an individual. They aren't nameless drones, they are people with things that they love and hate. They have things that they are good at or bad at, there are little quirks and ideas that make everyone different." Elisha drew a shuddering breath. "I don't want to lose my little Erich."

"I...you won't lose me Elisha, I will survive the Korps to see you again, I swear it." He tried to put all his emotion and love for her into his words, but found it hardly went above his usual hard edged tone of Krieg nobility. His words always sounded like those of a strict scholam instructor giving a lecture.

"Erich there is a difference between surviving and living." said Elisha sniffling occasionally, but her tone firm as she said it like steel was implanted into her words like in the armour of a Russ to make it stronger.

"If there is then I don't understand it, if I survive then I am alive, so I am living. What is the difference between the two?" questioned Erich truly curious.

"It's something that I'm going to let you figure out for yourself," said Elisha detaching herself from Erich. "It will have more meaning if you figure it out for yourself, rather than me just tell it to you."

"And If I do not figure it out?" asked Erich. Elisha smiled and let out a short chuckle.

"Then I'll tell you when you come back."

"But there is a chance that I won't come back, why don't you tell me now so that I do know the difference? How do you know that I will make it back?" asked Erich wanting to know the meaning of her words in case he couldn't decipher them on his own. Elisha never stopped smiling.

"I know, because you gave me your word that you would make it back and a Krieger never goes back on their oath right?"

"Only when there is a more important one to upkeep," intoned Erich sagely.

"Is there a more important one?"

"No, I can think of no other," said Erich after a moments hesitation. The platform began to swell with noise and vibrate slightly as the approaching tram announced its impending arrival with a loud roar and screech of metal on metal. It was soon too loud to talk and the yellow lit windows of the armoured tram began to rush past, brakes screeching to a halt. Elisha reached up and grasped Erichs mask and he grabbed her hands to stop her from undoing it.

Down here, especially with the tram, it was far too dangerous to even consider breaking a single seal, let alone removing the full mask. He could breath in pollutants, too much of even a non lethal gas in correct quantities would give him brain damage or kill him nearly instantaneously. He worried for Elisha, not having her mask on in a place like this, but if his mother had done it then it must be safe enough.

"Do you trust me?" asked Elisha when the tram had slowed enough for them to be heard over the screeching brakes and sound echoing in the enclosed tunnel. Erich hesitantly took his hands away from his mask, then with a click and a light hiss it came free.

Elisha reached around to the back of her neck and unclasped a necklace handing it to Erich. It was an aquilla like countless others he had seen, but it was highly detailed, yet the each foot and wing ended in a single point. It seemed to be made of a very hard dense metal, but at the same time was extremely light. It was a bright brass colour and Erich could almost feel the acquired warmth of the metal from his glove. A faint glow seemed to emanate from the necklace in the half light of the tram station, flashing when the light from the tram hit it as it passed.

"My mother gave this to me, before I... left Paladonia. It has six points on it, two for the wings, two for the feet, and two for the heads. It represents a horse and rider and the inseparable bond they have together. I want you to have it now. I want you to know that no matter what happens I will be there for you, if not in body then in spirit." The tram came to a final stop and the brakes hissed as the air was released from them. The doors slid open with a hydraulic whirr and clanged as they opened fully.

"I don't know what to say," said Erich his voice finally showing his awe at being given something so precious. It couldn't have been worth more than a high denomination crown piece, but it had value beyond monetary means.

"Then don't say anything, sometimes things like this don't need words," said Elisha, as Captain 26 began to walk over towards them. Erich was nervous, he might never see her again and he wanted to do something. He leaned in and put a chaste kiss on her forehead, any more and he would have never been able to stop himself.

"That wasn't quite what I had in mind when I said sometimes words aren't needed," said Elisha slightly surprised. Erich backpedalled, fearing that he had gone to far.

"If I offended you, I can assure you that I didn't mean-"

"It's fine Erich," said Elisha putting to rest his fears and anxiety.

"My lord we must get going now, we cannot keep the tram waiting." Captain 26 had reached them and was waiting patiently for Erich to get onto the train. Erich hurriedly put on the necklace and donned his mask.

"Just give a moment more captain," said Erich not quite yet wanting to leave, the anticipation of the change gnawing at him, wishing to remain in the limbo of the train station a little while longer.

"I am sorry lord, but the the tram will not wait. We must leave now or we will be left behind." Erich looked between Elisha and Captain 26.

"Very well, let us depart," said Erich turning sharply on his heel and walking towards the tram. Walking beside the grenadier he was a full head taller, though still skinny having yet to fill out.

"Don't forget about me now Erich okay?" said Elisha. Erich stopped and turned to her, pausing in the tram doorway, stooping to fit inside the doorway.

"I will see you in eight months time, upon completion of my guard training. The new recruits are allowed to return home briefly if they choose to." It was tradition that all new Korps recruits were allowed to return home briefly to say their farewells and close any remaining ties with their families. It was strictly optional though, and most simply chose to abstain from the practice, preferring instead to ship out immediately for the nearest war zone.

"I'll hold you to it," said Elisha as the tram door closed. Armoured shutters lowered like heavy eyelids, protecting the tram from any form or radiation as it made its way through the underbelly of Krieg or to the surface if it became necessary.

With the squeal of metal and the strain of super-heavy engines the tram began to pick up speed and was soon departed from the station, chased after by its own sounds rebounding off of the enclosed walls and disappearing down the open maw of the tunnel. Elisha stared after it for a time, before donning her mask and heading back towards the Baronesses entourage on the upper levels. Her shoes made lonely echoes as she walked away from the station.

Erich watched the subterranean city roll by the armoured glass. It was a marvel of architecture. The city was built in a hollowed out cavern stretching for miles in every direction, including vertically. Tall, imposing, grey stone or ferracrete buildings towered high above the lowest levels of the capital hive city. Foot traffic bustled to and fro, a sea of grey and black moving as relentlessly as the tides. Large lights were mounted in the caverns roof, giving off many millions of candle power of light. They bathed the city in a whitish, yellow glow. Though it did little to dispel the perpetual gloom that the city was shrouded in. Skyway bridges crisscrossed like arteries and veins, connecting the hive towers and allowing them to exchange workers like red blood cells. What most people find odd when they walk in a Krieg city is the quiet. Make no mistake, that there is noise like any city, but there is a stillness to it. There is the low rumble of heavy machinery, the steady pitter patter of feet, and the thrum of engines from civil vehicles. There was still noise, but hardly any sound.

There were no raised voices, no shouts of vendors hawking their wares, no voices raised in cheer, simply a quiet grim efficiency. The majority of the people walking down on the bridges would be women, since the majority of the male population was sent into the Korps. Those who were exceptionally virile or had skills deemed necessary to Kriegs survival were exempted and instead served in a civil capacity. A hefty proportion of the male population on Krieg was tied up in the PDF armies or the SDF in orbit. Indeed the thrum of machinery, the press of the forges, the very cold heart of Krieg was kept beating by its daughters.

The reason that those with a higher virility were allowed to remain on Krieg was that they had the highest chance of conceiving and spawning more children. These men were referred to as breeders, as that was the reason why they were kept behind. Krieg was bathed in radiation, it was a fact of life, unavoidable, ignored, and accepted. The people of Krieg had a slight natural resistance to it, but it still affected them. Widespread gene treatments had solved the rampant cancer rates, but it still affected the Kriegers themselves in a more intimate way. To put it bluntly and somewhat crudely, they shot blanks.

The men on Krieg had an embarrassingly low sperm count, just as the women had a terrible conception rate. For every successful conception there was three that had failed. Those were the statistics of the natural conception rates at least. Krieg however, held a somewhat more prominent place in Imperial command on account of the unswerving loyalty and toughness of the soldiers it produced. Obviously wanting more of such a valuable resource, the majos biologis distributed drugs, pills, hormones and other paraphernalia that increased the birth rate. Krieg was a factory, turning out lasguns and guardsmen in equal measure, with an equal value attached to each. Everything and everyone of Krieg was a resource.

Erich watched the quiet, almost solemn way that Kreig went about its daily life and was proud of it. Here was a culture, a people who were devoted to the Emperor body and soul. He felt a slight sense of trepidation looking down on it. This was the norm that was expected, the Korps demanded much higher and he would not disappoint. He could not disappoint.

The rest of the tram ride was uneventful, the spartan furnishings, far less than what Erich was used to, but it worked. The interior was lit with low watt electro scones, set in alcoves in the roof. They gave off a weak yellow light, that gave the interior the impression of a perpetual twilight. Erich sat on a canvas like bench, with room for another on it. With his immense size though, the person would have to be quite small to fit next to him. He could only imagine how large he would be when he finally filled out completely. Facing him opposite was Captain 26 silent and still as a statue.

"Captain, what can I expect to find in the Korps?" asked Erich eager to get just a little more insight into the famed regiments before he joined.

"You will find a much vaunted fighting force. If you are worthy you will find a place amongst its number. If you are smiled upon, you will find a good end to meet in the Emperors service," answered 26 immediately as if prepared for the question, seemingly expecting it.

"Yes I know of that, but what occupations are there within the Korps?" said Erich slightly impatient, it only betrayed by the slight modulation of his voice. 26 seemed annoyed by the continued questioning, the only hint was his posture shifted ever so slightly.

"Well," began 26. "The majority are simple riflemen, armed with a lasgun and standard equipment. If you find yourself amongst them it will mean that you either have no outstanding skills or you are a squad leader. There is no shame in being a rifleman, in fact it is the rifleman that carries the fight to the enemy first. You would be trained to have a general understanding of how to work, operate, clean, and fight with various heavy weapons and other assorted skills such as stealth or trench raiding." 26 brought himself further up on his bench and made himself more comfortable.

"If you are a good shot, you will be trained as either a marksman or a sniper. You would be tasked with terminating enemy officers, compromising enemy morale, directing forward artillery and scouting. With your size though, I wouldn't recommend this choice," said 26 looking Erich up and down. "You need a low profile, be able to hide in every piece of conceivable cover and survive for days on your own with minimal food and water. You would have a large profile, have trouble finding cover and would require much more food and water to sustain yourself."

"So then what would you recommend that I apply for?" asked Erich.

"With your size, strength and melee fighting skills, I would recommend assault. Or if you would prefer heavy squad based weapons."26 rubbed an imaginary smudge off of his gleaming death heads pins. "A word of advice lord, while you still are a lord. Don't be a coward in the Korps, survivalists aren't looked upon favourably in the ranks." Erich felt a dark anger rise in him at the accusation.

"You dare accuse me of cowardice? I would fight and die on a word for the Emperors' glory. I have already bested one of his innumerable foes and I plan to take many more with me before my time is nigh," said Erich, voice low and dangerous. "In the future I would ask that you keep your accusations to yourself."

"I accused you of nothing lord, merely stated the facts. If you have some guilt that makes you perceive otherwise, then that is not my concern," 26 was as unflappable as ever, seeming almost serene behind his mask despite the fact that a miniature ogryn was getting angry at him. His hand never strayed far from his las pistol however.

"I have no guilt, my conscience and soul are free of any such burdens," said Erich easing his vast frame back into his seat.

"There is always guilt lord, no matter what we tell ourselves." Erich remained silent, staring out the window again. His old life already seemed so far away, like it was just out of reach. He felt a stirring inside of himself, whether it was grief, elation, or trepidation, he was not sure. Though it seemed like a vaguely, happy feeling. Even if it did make him antsy.

It was all so new, so much so fast that he wasn't sure that he could keep up. Sometimes it felt like nothing could shake him and others it felt like everything was going to crush him under the weight of his responsibilities. Only time would tell he guessed.

"Servant, I have a small request for you." It was Helena who spoke, baroness of the Von Shreider family. She would never call it a favour, even if that was what it was. They had returned to the governors palace, and since the Inquisition showed no signs of letting up the investigation they would not be returning to the manor anytime soon.

"What can I do for you baroness?" asked Elisha, showing the amount of respect necessary for the nobility of Krieg.

"With this current state of flux ongoing, I had planned on taking a pleasure cruise around the sub-sector for several months. My handmaidens are not quite adequately skilled to look after my needs. This being the case I have come to ask that you accompany me in my endeavour. Only until they are adequately capable of course."

"Of course," said Elisha politely. Not adequately cowed is what you mean, thought Elisha not nearly as politely. The reason that the Baroness got off-world handmaidens, was that they were much easier to intimidate than a Krieg woman. Try to intimidate someone who lived on what was classified as a deathworld and see how well that turned out for you. The women of Krieg might not be soldiers, but being on a world like Krieg made you acquire certain skills. The prickle rat breeding season was an especially dangerous time, as well as the stalkers that dwelt on the surface. Elisha had never seen one in person, but they were supposed to be terrifying. Not to mention, the hard life of living in some of the lowest sections of the hive.

"We will be leaving in two days time, I will expect you to be ready and able at any time that I require. Day or night."

"I will help you when I can, but my other duties may render me unable to be of assistance when you require my help."

"What other duties?" questioned the baroness.

"The ones that lord Erich left for me," replied Elisha vaguely.

"And those would be?"

"I am afraid that I am unable to say. He was most specific that they remain secret." Elisha swore she saw the baronesses jaw twitch as she finished.

"Very well," said the baroness as if the words were being forced out through a thimble. "I will see you when we depart servant." She turned sharply on her heel, moving so quickly that her hair whipped around and she walked away quickly, heels muffled by the expensive carpets.

"I look forward to seeing you soon your ladyship," called out Elisha after her sweetly. "You bitch," she muttered under her breath. The baroness kept walking as regal as ever, and completely oblivious to the flagrant disrespect.

Erich stepped off the tram at the Korps military station. It was a massive structure built for practicality and defensive capability's' instead of aesthetic appeal. It stretched several kilometres down into Krieg, as well as two hundred metres above the surface. The walls in many places were over a metre thick, of hardened permacrete and steel alloy reinforcements. It was shielded against radiation, chemical attacks, orbital bombardment, ground assaults, infiltration and if it ever happened, nuclear. The structure was said to be able to take several direct hits of high yield atomic weaponry. Some would say that orbital bombardment was the most fearsome assault that could be unleashed on a foe; the people of Krieg begged to differ.

An orbital bombardment, if done with the right class of ship and weaponry, could indeed crack a continent; destroy an entire planet even. But, it was the nuclear torch that was a far crueler weapon to use. It would kill you in an instant... if you were lucky. Those that survived would have to endure a hellish wasteland and constant battle for survival. The mutation or utter destruction of the planets animalia and planatalia was shocking. Once docile creatures were turned into ravenous beasts, resistant to all but the deadliest poisons and toxins. There were no naturally growing plant life on Krieg, mushrooms and hydroponics were the only planatalia left of Krieg. Some wished that the same for the animalia. Some of those creatures, were disturbing to say the least.

Erich followed close on Captain 26's heels, careful not to be caught up and separated in the press of bodies and foot traffic. His height helped him keep sight of 26, even at times when he was completely cut off from him by the bustle of Korpsman and new recruits like him. No one ever ran into each other though. No one pushed. No one shoved. It was a very polite press of bodies, but a press of bodies all the same.

Some of the people scattered around talked in low voices, in groups of friends or parents saying goodbye. Erich had heard, that once you joined the Korps, you had no family. Your fellow guardsmen were just that, guardsmen. Though that must have been an exaggeration. After all, his father had still been around while serving in the Korps.

Erich followed 26 through a set of blast doors, guarded by rigid Korps soldiers at either side; their lasguns were held in an upwards ceremonial position, that could easily be brought to bear should the need arise. That will be me, though Erich as he walked past the guards. The roof was not very high, no more than ten metres perhaps and he was certain that the floors above were much lower that this one. There were long lines of masked men, all having reached adulthood at fifteen and waiting to enlist in the Korps. All they did was sign their name on the dotted line and receive their instructions.

Erich had heard that the Korps was changing the way it numbered the Korps. Instead of turning out a random number, it would be done by regiment number, battalion, company, than the troopers number in the regiment. Say that he was the 47th trooper in the regiment, his number would be 0047 within the regiment. If it was for more informal purposes. On paper, or operating with other regiments and he was with the 84th artillery regiment, his designation would be trooper Alpha-84-0047. Or for short hand A-84-0047. With the battalion and company added of course it would be longer with bet more numbers and letters. It was easier to simply reassign the old numbers than to constantly assign new ones. Less of a paper trail.

"There is one thing that I did forget to mention lord when we were coming here," said 26 conversationally as Erich waited in the ridiculously long line. It seemed to travel at a snails pace, despite the fact that each new recruit only scribbled their name of a piece of paper and was guided off down to be kitted in a different area. After being checked for lice, diseases, mutations, or any other ailments that would make individual unfit for military service. In the case of mutations, unfit for life, but that rarely happened.

"May I enquire at to what that was?" asked Erich shuffling forward every few seconds.

"I am afraid that you will have to relinquish your power sword to the Korps until you reach an appropriate rank to use it." Erich turned on 26 sharply.

"This is my sword, mine. It is a symbol of my status and my gift into adulthood. I can fight superbly with it and I will not relinquish it simply because I do not have the junior rank necessary to hold it," said Erich sharply. "I am sure that they will understand my desire to retain my own weapon," said Erich taking a few quick steps to keep the line moving. "A small exception can be made, surely."

"Personal weapons are prohibited for enlisted personal, or officers below the rank of captain. There will be no understanding and no exceptions."

"That is simply intolerable, I must lodge a complaint about this practice," said Erich sourly. "It would make far more sense to allow the troopers to fight with what they were best with."

"The door is right behind you lord," said 26.

Erich let out something akin to a growl and began to unbuckle the power sword. "Makes no sense at all," grumbled Erich.

"What are you doing?" questioned 26.

"I am giving you my power sword, since that I am not allowed to keep it on my person," said Erich stiffly.

"I don't want it," 26 said frankly. "You're not in the Korps yet, and unless you actually intend on giving it to me to keep, then I suggest that you hang onto it until they ask for it." Erich felt his face flush at his mistake and quickly refastened the belt. He shoved his hands into his well tailored pockets irritated.

"Don't put your hands in your pockets, it's a sign of disrespect," said 26. Erich quickly removed his hands and kept moving forwards. Finally, he was staring across a stone table sunk into the floor at a Korpsman sergeant. He pushed a form forward that was only a single page long with a small x at the bottom. Signature. Erich signed his name in full on the dotted line in his elegantly sloped, long hand writing. Erich Rudolf Von Shreider. The auto quill seemed unnaturally loud as he set it back down on the desk.

"Down the hall trooper," said the sergeant with absolute authority. Which in a way, he now had over Erich. Erich turned to 26 to say his final farewell and thank him for his help.

"Get moving trooper," said 26 to him before leaving to conduct some task or other. Erich stood there stunned for a moment, before realizing that he now no longer had the same privileges as before.

Erich took off at a brisk walk down the indicated hallway, clutching at his paper like a lifeline. He saw several doorways with signs hanging above them proclaiming their different functions. New recruits and Korps personnel bustled about, moving from room to room with professional ease. Occasionally a new recruit was confused as to where to go and an imposing noncom would point him in the right direction. Erich himself was ushered into an infirmary by a sergeant with a bionic arm and then proceeded to be poked and prodded. He was declared fit enough for service and was sent to the next station.

Erich went through several other stations and finally had to deposit his personal effects into a clear, heavy plastic box. His power sword was deposited inside, as well as his fine clothes that covered his enviro suit. He was allowed to keep the aquilla necklace since that it was a devotional icon to the Emperor. That was probably good, since he would quite possible have gotten a court martial when they would have tried to take it. That would have been a short and inauspicious career in the Korps.

The next station was the mandatory devotional station. In it, Erich was marked as a chip of the Emperors hammer. A member of his innumerable legions, fight the seemingly infinite numbers of mankind's enemies. On his left bicep, right below the shoulder, an Imperial Aquilla was tattooed into his flesh. The symbol of humanity was etched into his flesh in the form of a daring double-headed bird, in bold black. Now he was forever marked by the Imperial Guard, their mark to be carried as a part of himself till his dying breath.

The last station was in a warehouse like building, where they took his measurements and made him stand in another line. He was issued more of his kit the farther down he went and by the time he got to the end, he had everything he needed. There was no need to switch masks, since that civilian and Korps masks were mass produced to save on factory retooling. Though the enviro suits would have to be handed in to the Korps, so they could use the standard issue of the Korps. As Erich was waiting to continue on; milling around with his syndicate waiting for orders. He decided to take a first hand look at his new equipment.

He pulled the helmet out of the fishnet synthetic bag and turned it over in his hands. There was a bladed spike on top and it was scratched in some places showing the bare metal underneath. His probing hands felt over the surface, then caught on something. Erich turned the helmet over to look at the problem spot and nearly dropped it. In the side of the helmet was a hole. Just big enough for his finger to slip through. A gap toothed grin in the metal that seemed to promise Erich a similar fate, with an arrogant assurance. As if fate wanted to make it clear what would happen and wanted to tear down any facade of survival.

"The Death Korps," said Erich to himself, now understanding it in full.

Erich was sleeping fitfully, when the reveille was sounded. He woke up instantly and rolled out of bed onto the floor. He began to remake his bed as fast as he could, frantic activity mimicked by all the others around him. Heavy boots thudded down the centre isle of the 120 man barracks. One of the sergeants flipped the mattress of a trooper too slow to get out of bed. A few minutes of frantic bed making, with improvised measuring and hoping that it was right, they were uniformed and going for their morning run. It was a ten kilometre run through dimly lit tunnels still on the night cycle.

Erich had failed the bed inspection on his first day of training. He had never had much of a standard to maintain and even then the servants had done most of the work. The company sergeant major hadn't said a word when he had seen the bed and footlocker. He had left instructions for the sergeant and left. Erich was then made to carry the bed and foot locker three kilometres and set it up in one of the innumerable tunnels and await inspection. He had managed to pass, but then had to carry it back to the barracks and make it back before lights out. They had given him an hour to do it in and if not for his immense size and strength, he was sure that he wouldn't have made it in time.

They ran in step in ranks of three, those who fell behind would face extra duties and punishment details. They ran in full gear. Packs equipped for life in the field and lasguns slung over shoulders. Their laboured breathing and thunder like footsteps was the only sound that accompanied them. Other regiments had songs, inspirational phrases, or some other morale boosting device to call out as they ran. The Korps had none. Erich ran at the front, his height giving him the honorary position of right marker. It was better at the front of the column, he could see where to place his feet and didn't have to look at the backs of the other troopers and trust that the ground beneath his feet was free of any imperfections.

They set a steady rhythm and the pace wasn't overly taxing. Erich had to remember to keep his paces shorter to the standard, so he didn't outpace the shorter troopers. The pack didn't bother him, well designed to help the wearer carry it with ease, despite the weight that it held. The lasgun was still a little foreign to him, but he was learning it as quickly as he could, determined to succeed. He had dealt mostly with pistols and swords, the nobility finding little use for a las rifle. Though he had used one on occasion on prickle rat hunting trips in the lowest levels of Krieg hives.

The sergeants ran alongside them, spaced strategically to maximize their supervisory roles. It was unnecessary though, the troopers would do what was expected of them. One thing that Erich had learned when he had arrived in his new home was that he was not allowed to call himself by his name, even in private. He wasn't even allowed to refer to himself as I, the proper introduction was this trooper. For slipping up, the new recruits were made to run laps around the tunnels. Only for a kilometre though for an infraction. There was a lot of running those first few weeks.

After their run was a short hygiene period with lethargic water, then breakfast. Five minutes was all that was allotted to eat. They shovelled the food into the sides of their masks, holding it open with one hand and piling it in with the other. Then they were inspected, uniforms marked and lasrifles scrutinized. It was only an hour or so of standing at attention though and it allowed a reprieve from the training. They had yet to receive their full identification numbers, so they were simply numbered A-001 to A-120. Erich was trooper A-027. Those who failed the inspection would go through it again at 0200 hours after several hours of drill.

After inspection they had drill, and learned all the subtle nuances and timings of the clockwork precise movements. The drill sergeant major went around with a metal rod and gave the troopers a rap who were doing it incorrectly. A-027 only received a few raps during the class and the thick fatigues took most of the blow anyway.

After drill was weapons maintenance classes, where they were taught to care for their lasrifle as if it was a small child. Giving it constant care and attention. The Krieg lasrifle was longer than most other regiments had, and semi-automatic. It had fewer shots per cell, but greater range and power. They had a sword bayonet that they sharpened to a razor keen on their leather strops. By the end of their training, they would be expected to take apart their rifles and put them back together in two minutes. As of yet, it took a little better than half an hour.

They did bare knuckled pushups until they bled, the skin tearing on the hard ground wrists shaking until they finally gave out. They would run until they dropped, then crawl until they couldn't move. The physical regimen was gruelling, but it had a purpose. The knuckle pushups would toughen their knuckles with callouses, and strengthen their wrists for fighting. It would teach them to deal with pain and harden their resolve for when combat was thickest. The running and other exercises would give them muscles, strength and endurance, allowing them to operate when most others people would have collapsed from exhaustion. They would do group exercises, working their muscles until they could take no more. Work them to the point of exhaustion and pain. Then they would do it again. No one complained about it, no one wanted to do poorly and fail.

Bayonet practice was done with a precise brutality. Graceful, yet deadly. The sword bayonets flashed on the ends of the long rifles as they spun in patterns of attack and defence. They easily punctured the test dummies, sticking fast until pulled free after twisting to cause maximum damage. A-027 had heard that at the end of training, if there were enough criminals or failed vat born, they would get to practice on live targets. There was no way of knowing if it was true or not, but if it was then they would have to be sure to practice the best that they could. There was no arguing if it was a fatal stab on a living target. It would be embarrassing to run them through only to have to stand there while they bled out, from the inept thrust.

A-027 found out that he excelled at marksmanship and unarmed or melee weapons training. The long las rifle favoured by the Korps fit his size perfectly and years of intense training made him able to break rockcrete blocks with his bare hands. If only he could use a sword, or something other than the sword bayonet. Then he would show them true skill with a blade. He wasn't good enough with a rifle to qualify as a sniper, but that suited him just fine. He doubted that he would do particularly well staying still for days at a time if it proved necessary for just a single kill. The unarmed fighting was exhilarating if a bit dull at times. Having had extensive training, added to his strength and size made it simply lack in challenge. It was also in the unarmed training, that he killed his fist human being.

The ground was dirt here, to limit the damage done when the troopers hit the ground. It was a rectangular area, and completely flat. A-027 stood in the formation of 120 men at rigid attention as their captain briefed them on their latest training. Row upon row of silent, mask clad Korpsmen gave him their full attention, their rifles held leaning against their shoulders in a position of attention. The area was well lit, but not overly bright. The lighting could be changed to simulate different times of day, as well as the ground changed to simulate different environments. You could fight on solid rock one day, have it dotted with boulders on irregular ground another and shifting sand dunes on the third. The Korps took its training very seriously. The captain was named Captain T-98, denoting him as a training officer. The odd arthritic movements and low whine of his legs hinted at the augmetic replacements that were undoubtedly under his fatigues. The clack hiss when he spoke wasn't just the usual expulsion of gases from his enviro suit. It made A-027 wonder just how extensive the damage was, but he was fast finding that he was starting to not care about things that weren't a priority to know, or related to his duties.

"Today, we begin what in my professional opinion is the most important aspect of your combat training," said T-98, his words punctuated by the clack-hiss of his breathing. Usually it wasn't proper to refer to yourself directly, but it also depended on the situation. The standard was mostly for new recruits who needed to be fully integrated into the Korps and the denial of personal identity was just a tool used. The Korpsmen who survived for an extended period of time began to refer to themselves in the first person, understanding the need to place the needs of the Korps above themselves and thus allowed to identify themselves as separate again.

"For on this day, you will be learning how to fight with the weapons that the Emperor armed you with when you came into this world. I am talking of your hands, your feet, your teeth and even mind. A time will come when the difference between life and death, victory and defeat, will depend upon your ability to fight with your bare hands." T-98 removed the glove on his right hand and held up his hand for all assembled to see. It shone brightly in the light.

"I lost this hand and much of my arm in a fight with an ork," T-98 said making his hand rotate a full 360 degrees. "I was stationed with the 301st heavy siege regiment on Almanya in our own segmentum. I was on the eastern portion of the trench line and in the thick of the fighting. We were well dug in and were able to pour fire onto the advancing greenskin menace, killing them in droves. They were only able to reach the trench line when we ran out out of ammunition for our heavy stubbers and bolters. I shot this orc twice in the chest, before he jumped into the trench with me." His tone changed as is reliving the fight in vivid detail, his voice sounding almost dreamy and distant.

"My rifle was knocked from my grasp and I was forced to fight with my bayonet and bare hands. The xeno was horribly strong and fast, but clumsy. Even so, a single hit from his choppa and another distinguished veteran would be here training you instead of me. I scored several wounds on the beast, but nothing enough to kill it. It attempted to bite me, with its grotesque tusks and deformed mouth. It bit down on my arm after it knocked me against the trench wall, but I was able to turn the bayonet so that it faced upwards. When the xeno bit down it took my arm, but I took its life in return. I credit my survival and many kills that I have made for the Emperor to these very classes in which you are about to partake in now. Learn well, be quick, don't hold back and fight as hard as you can." T-98 donned his glove again and looked over the assembled ranks again as if looking for something. He departed, accompanied by a sergeant in full dress uniform and left with the stiff gait of mid-grade augmetics.

A-027 and the rest of the recruits were split up into pairs or small groups and instructed to begin when ready. This would be the first time that they would actually fight instead of just training and they were eager to show their skills. Shortly after they started fighting, they were stopped by the supervisors with a few curt words. They had been fighting, like they were still sparing in the civilian training centres. They weren't supposed to hold back in the least and after a verbal lashing, they were told to continue.

A-027 circled with his opponent, a larger Korpsman who was closest in size to him. He was a little shorter, but built like a Baneblade. A long vivid scratch decorated the front of his mask, a reminder of the fate that the previous owner had no doubt suffered. The large Korpsman rushed forwards and led with a powerful hay-maker. A-027 blocked it with a flick of his arm and delivered a straight, powerful punch directly into the other troopers mask. The thickset Korpsman staggered back, and then A-027 followed up with a powerful sidekick knocking him flat onto his back.

A-027 adopted a low stance, securing his footing on the dirt ground and waited for his opponent to regain his footing. The Korpsman was quickly on his feet, though he coughed and quickly brought his hands up in a ready stance. The wide Korpsman was a little more wary now and watched for an opening to exploit. A-027 didn't give him a chance to find one. He rushed his opponent and executed a standing spin kick which took the robust Korpsman in the side of the head. A-027s' opponent almost hit the ground again, but recovered and threw his weight into a hard return punch that was sidestepped. A-027 danced around the Korpsman, making him seem clumsy in his attempts to land a blow. A-027 hit him again and again, but he refused to go down.

He came again and again, each time receiving more punishment than the last. A three strike punch combo, followed by a round house sent him sprawling. A strike at the knee, twisting it savagely, possibly dislocating it and then a back fist to the side of the head. Each time the Korpsman came back for more, and each time A-027 hit him a little harder hoping that he would just stay down.

After a particularly brutal hit against the Korpsman, A-027 was sure that he heard bones crack, but his opponent didn't go down, simply attacked with renewed ferocity wheezing. 'Don't hold back,' the words echoed in his mind like words in a wide cavern with an amused child wanting to hear its own voice. He ducked a swing from the Korpsman and delivered an uppercut with such force that he lifted his opponent off of the ground, then kicked him as hard as he could while the Korpsman was still in the air.

The Korpsman flew backwards and hit the earth hard, the greatcoat taking the worst of the impact with the ground. A-027 held his fighting stance and waited for his opponent to either yield or continue the fight. And he waited. And he waited. A-027 cautiously dropped his stance and advanced to his fallen opponent. He was wary for a trap, but that was not the way of the Korps. He knelt down and shook his opponent. Nothing. A-027 felt his heart-rate pick up and a nauseous feeling take hold in his stomach. What had he done?

He had killed his opponent, a fellow Korpsman. This was a crime, a travesty of the Korps good name. Not to mention that he had killed a loyal and devout servant of the Emperor. He would be expelled from the Korps, discarded, shamed before all of his family in addition to the Korps. His father would be ashamed. A-027 stood up hastily and backed away from the body quickly. Eager to distance himself from the body as if it would rise up and accuse him of committing the crime of its murder. The training was supposed to be hard, realistic. Not fatal, not like this. A-027 was still running through the various punishments and shame that he would be dealt and had done when one of the training sergeants walked up to the fallen Korpsman. He knelt down and checked for signs of life.

"Sergeant, I...I didn't mean for this to happen. I was only trying to do my best and not hold back. If I would have known that I would, if it would have done this, then I would never have done it." A-027 was almost pleading with the sergeant to understand. The sergeant removed one of his gloves and a pale hand checked for a pulse. Then the sergeant removed the Korpsmans' mask, looking for any sign of life. A young bruised face, discoloured with blood leaking from the mouth was all he found underneath. The jaw looked distorted, as if it had a joint from which it could bend with and the bone distended the flesh of the dead face. The sergeant stood and advanced on A-027 with a confident if quick stride. Despite being nearly a head shorter than A-027, the sergeant made him feel very small.

"How did this happen?" asked the sergeant, his voice strictly business. A-027 adopted a position of attention and found a spot far away to stare at, while he told what had transpired.

"In the course of this troopers training with A-062, this trooper dealt a fatal blow to him, which resulted in his death sergeant."

"Did you hit him in the throat or any other area which would could have caused internal hemorrhaging or destroyed any vital areas?"

"No sergeant, this trooper did not. This trooper fought him how it had been taught and trained. This trooper should have restrained itself and it did not. This trooper is sorry for its failure sergeant, and will accept any punishment that is deemed fit." A-027 stood straight and waited for the words that would end his career and possibly his life as well.

"Your punishment will be the regular for breaking article 2, subsection 5," said the sergeant in a businesslike tone.

"Personnel protocol, sergeant?" Questioned A-027 confused.

"Yes, you referred to yourself as I several times, but it was in a stressful time so some leniency will be given for the situation."

"But sergeant, this trooper killed a fellow Korpsman."

"Yes, but we ordered you to not hold back and from my preliminary inspection of the body, you followed the rules accordingly. It was not your fault, though in the future we would ask that you refrain from killing your sparring partner. Cripple if necessary, but don't kill if at all possible. After supper tonight, you will be expected to report for disciplinary action. That is all."

"Yes sergeant," said A-027 dumbly. The sergeant left and a quartermaster found a place beside the body and began to strip it of all its gear. A-062s' gear. On a world where every scrap of equipment was irreplaceable, nothing was wasted. Even if it had to be picked off the still warm body of its previous owner. The quartermaster worked quickly, like an efficient scavenger. He undid the clasps and seals with a quick, professional air. One of the last pieces removed from the dead Korpsman was the mask with a long scratch down the front of it. A-027 never wanted to see that mask with the scratch for the rest of his life.

The Korps training lasted for eight months. For eight long months, A-027 learned the art of killing, discipline, drill, and unswerving loyalty to the Imperium of man. They drilled relentlessly day in and day out. The Korps gave, but they also took away. They took away their fear, their doubt, their laxity, their selfishness, their gluttony and their old identities. They were the Korps, just as the Korps was them. They gave them a calling, duty, purpose, a way to serve that would redeem them all. Once clumsy with the long las rifles, the new Korpsman could pick off a prickle rat at a hundred metres, open sights. Once unsure with a bayonet, they could wield it as well as any artist did their brush. Once hesitant to fight hand to hand, they attacked each other like the other was a member of the arch enemy. They were Korpsman in all but designation now, but there was still one test left to them.

The lift ascended on well maintained tracks and cables, only making the occasional screech or groan. The lift was for bulk shipments and at the moment contained over a hundred Korpsman of A-027s' training company. The company had done well in training, the troopers performing well to the conditioning and harsh training standards. Nearly the entirety of the Korps training took place underground. Safe, secure, presided over by the steady gaze of veteran Korps soldiers. Many of which were classified as combat invalids, but were still of value so were relegated to training roles. Through their guidance and tutelage, the next wave of Korpsman were trained sent forth into the Emperors' wars. Still, not all knowledge can be taught, some needed to be learned first hand.

After the 'never-ending night,' many Kriegers were never given a proper burial. There was simply not the resources or ability to bury them. Not only that, but it was dangerous to try and find the bodies on the surface. Any suit breach would be fatal, and dragging a full body was both tiring and dangerous. You were exposed to more than just the elements on the surface. It was these conditions that made chipping the acceptable form of burial.

Chipping, was the act of taking a small fragment of bone from a body in order to put the soul at rest, by at least giving a piece of its body a proper burial. There was no real formal procedure for chipping, formalities took time and that was something that you just didn't have when exposed to the howling, ferocious and sickly winds that prowled Kriegs surface. Air was precious as it was limited on Krieg and the little gauge on the side of their suits was all too willing to remind them of it. Not to mention the risk of stalkers.

A-027 checked his gauge. Full. He stared at the measuring increments on it, as if wondering if it was lying to him and was in fact empty. Simply waiting until he was beyond the safety of the underground facilities, before it would coyly inform him that he was going to die. It was an irrational fear of course, he had filled his tanks personally. He had nearly a weeks worth of breathable air, and he wouldn't need even a tenth of it. It would be simple. Walk in the old world, find a body, take a bone fragment, then leave. It wasn't like it would be overly hard or dangerous.

Yellow glow globes, protected by iron bars passed the lift by as it ascended, eyeing the soon to be Korpsman. A-027 checked his las rifle for the umpteenth time to pass the time. Focusing lens was clean and correctly aligned. The power pack was tight in its holding. The weapon was good, so why did he feel so nervous? The dark metal of the lift and silent troopers around him were unforthcoming, and A-027 found that he didn't really care to find out. Nervousness would pass and if it didn't then he would ignore it, fears only interfered with combat efficiency.

The lift ground to a halt with a loud clank and the hiss of hydraulics releasing pressure. Red strobe lights flashed and the great metal door in front of them emblazoned with a giant imperial skull, sank into the ground. Beyond the giant door, was several Korpsman technicians and another giant door emblazoned with yet another Imperial skull. The technicians were quite adept at handling the instruments of the Omnissiah, much to the displeasure of the Adeptus Mechanicus. There was a long standing disagreement between Krieg and the Martian priesthood. The Adeptus Mechanicus believed that they had jurisdiction over any and all mechanical instruments in the Imperium of Man. Krieg, politely disagreed.

When you were dependant on the bulk filters, purifiers, and various other instruments that kept you alive day to day, usually you wanted to be the one to make sure that they continued working. Of course a few large scale accidents had occurred as a result of this practice. The vigilance of the average Krieger was usually enough to stop any significant damage, so the catastrophes were mitigated. The priesthood had tried to use these incidents to show that only they could manage the glories of the Omnissiahs' creation. Citing that they should be the ones to handle the facilities. They denied all accusations that they had been responsible for the incidents with the machines, saying that there would be repercussions for further slander. The leaders of Krieg had relented, and stationed large units of PDF to guard the facilities and keep the Mechanicus out. The accident rate had dropped by 96% after this action was taken. Several priests had been terminated after attempting to sneak into the air purification plants. The Adeptus Mechanicus denied all involvement with the 'rogue' priests.

The Korpsman troopers filed in and filled in the space between the two doors, and the large door behind them closed like a hungry maw. There were several actual Korpsman grenadiers standing guard at the thick door in front of them. That was a little odd since that grenadiers were either bodyguards or deployed to warzones on dangerous missions. To have soldiers of their calibre here was a bit of a rarity.

There were no final instructions, the orders had been perfectly clear. Obtain a fragment of bone from a deceased citizen and return. Obtain it in any way necessary and do whatever it took for the mission to succeed. Strangely dire sounding orders for such a simple task. A-027 reformed with the rest of the company and waited for the technicians to open the final obstacle in their path. With a warning klaxon and angry red strobe lights, it opened. Tainted light crept in, like a snake through the cracks in a wall. A hiss, then a rush of cold, toxic air washed over them causing their greatcoats to flare momentarily. For many of them, it was their first time looking upon the surface of their planet. It was a sight that would be burned into their minds for the rest of their lives.

Dark, blackened towers rose like desiccated skeletons from the grave soil of Krieg. Many broken or fallen down, shattered remains of a once proud city stood. Tall, imposing, intimidating and utterly lifeless superstructures stood like jet black apparitions of the souls of those who came before. The ceiling on the surface stretched forever, with dark rolling clouds swirling violently like storm waters that A-027 had heard formed on oceans, but had never seen. No, not the ceiling, the sky. It was so high. A-027 felt nauseous looking at it, like he was going to fall into the sky, because surely the simple forces of gravity could not hold him down with such an expanse looming overhead? Forks of lightning lanced the sky, briefly illuminating the charred remains of the old hive. Thunder rolled like a baneblade, rumbling deeply before dying away completely. The land was desolate in all directions, sand or sickly grey dirt was all that was present as far as the eye could see. It was a place of death and misery, a tomb, a graveyard, but one which its dead still needed to be put to rest.

Some scavenged through the old hives, looking for treasure or profit. Some looked for old technology hoping to sell to the Mechanicus, while others looked to piece together history. They would be intruders too, but hopefully the dead would forgive them since they were coming to give them peace, not rob their crypt.

As one, the Kriegers took a step forward, A-027 being one of the first outside. Heavy automated bolter and multi las turrets guarded the approaches to the gate, which was stuck in the side of a mountain face; a gentle slope leading down towards the hive. The Kriegers formed a column and began marching into the old world. Only two words were said, and by a grenadier no less.

"Good luck," as toneless and emotionless as the land surrounding them.

The first casualty died badly. After a half hour of marching, just at the outskirts of the city limits, he died. All had been fine, then a trooper farther back in the column had begun frantically fiddling with his respirator unit. Hissing was heard, then hacking and coughing. For how long he had been breathing unclean air was uncertain, only that he had noticed far too late. The trooper fell to the ground gasping and retching, spasming while trying to breathe air that trickled away like sand between his fingers. The column stopped and watched. There was no helping the trooper and no way that they could get him back in time for medical treatment. It was a bad way to die, a hated way to die and if being honest feared. No one wanted to die like that, no one deserved that. Helpless and fragile, fighting against an enemy which was unable to be struck back.

The company quartermaster walked calmly up to the gurgling trooper, and the ranks of Korpsman parted like wave to the bow of a ship. He knelt down to the trooper who was becoming quieter and delivered a las bolt from point blank range. An end to a bad death. The quartermaster worked quickly and efficiently stripping the corpse of all valuable equipment. Blank blue eyes stared up from the dead Korpsman, his mouth discoloured and a discoloured bile was present. They stared in silence.

An opportunistic Korpsman drew level with the body and rammed his sword-bayonet into the skull, working the blade before breaking off a fragment of bone. He deposited it into a glass vial, before walking back to the main gates. Crude, but it was a necessary thing to do and if he was smart enough to pick an easy target, then all the better. It was logical and practical, so why did it leave a bitter taste in A-027s' mouth?

The Korpsman reformed back into their files and resumed their marching. They were the Death Korps, death would not stop them. That still didn't stop them from double checking their gear though.

The Kriegers broke off into either pairs or small groups as they entered the city, some heading off on their own. No clear direction had been give for the retrieval of the chips, so since it was an individual assignment, the more ground that they could cover the faster they would get done and could leave this place.

Whether through fortune or chance, but most probably his untouchable qualities, A-027 was left bereft of a group or even partner to travel through the stricken hive. The wind howled down the empty streets, and his footprints in the dust and ash was wiped clean by the ever prevalent winds. Only dust and echoes belonged here, a place of memories for days gone past. Barely remembered truths and half remembered facts were all that he had to guide him. The toxic air formed serpent like tendrils, that greedily pulled, poked and prodded his A-027's environment suit looking for a way in. Finding none, it seemed to howl, drawing away in anger before returning for a more hopeful search.

Walking in the shadow of corpse like building and the long empty streets made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. A-027 carried his las rifle cradled in his hands. It reassured him, made him feel more at ease in this place. The towering spires made his bulk, which had seemed so large in the tunnels underground seem so, insignificant. It was sobering as it was alien. A-027 looked to the sky again, then looked away just as quickly. The nausea was instant every time he looked into the endless sky.

He cast his gaze from left to right, hoping for an easy find and an end to this test, but he could find no easy pickings. A sudden thought occurred to him. What if he got lost? He had water that could be fed through the mask and freeze dried food that he could do the same with, but how long would that last? Would he eventually become the prize of another enterprising Korpsman looking for a chip to complete his test with? A-027 felt a momentary surge of panic, before pressing it down and reasserting his calm, cold, Korps trained mind. If he became lost, he would find a vantage point to reorient himself or vox for help. It was that simple, panic was useless. With renewed purpose, A-027 resumed his trek through the old world, looking for his chip.

Dark came quickly in the hive city and with only occasional sightings of other Korpsman on similar tasks, the dark seemed to solidify the feeling of isolation. It was not true dark though. Night was still many hours away, it was the malnourished spires and towering clouds that made night real when it was still a lie. Outside the hive it would still be light, but inside it may as well have been night. It would make finding his chip all the harder. It didn't help that the shadows were starting to play tricks on his eyes.

Dark shapes, dim silhouettes that danced just beyond the edges of his vision only to disappear when he dared to acknowledge them. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his hands tingled all the way to his shoulders. Curse this place and its dancing shadows! Damn this premature dark and unclear task. A-027 tightened his grip on his rifle and continued onwards, the shadows always following, just out of sight and out of mind.

There were many building around, but none of them appeared even remotely safe to try and navigate. They were all crumbling, decayed wrecks that were so obviously a death trap as to not even warrant entertaining the idea of entering them. Falling through the rotten floor of a 200 storey hab was not A-027's idea of a good, honourable death.

The most promising place for a chip turned out to be what appeared to be an old hab spire that was mostly intact. Pieces of the wall was missing in places, it was the same monotonous grey as everything else around it; the paint or natural colouring having fled years ago. The windows were nearly all blown out, broken glass having once littered in bright patches, now were faded and worn. The permacrete was pockmarked and scarred, charred in many places and yet it stood. Amid the torment and desolation it stood. A beacon of permanency on a world where the only permanent thing was the the empty wastes and ruin its land.

A-027 climbed the short, but wide reaching stone steps, rubbed smooth by the countless passing of wind over its forgotten surfaces. Pieces of rubble and rocky debris dogged his footsteps as he picked his way through the debris. A particularly loud whooshing caught his attention, just before a large piece of permacrete added a new pile of debris, only scant metres from where he stood. Permacrete fragments spattered against his greatcoat even as A-027 jumped back and scanned the upper reaches of the spire.

He felt his adrenaline spike as he found targets, the dark shapes and shadows higher up and perched on ledges. Creatures, grotesque and deformed. There were dozens of them, only black outlined, but clearly visible. A-027 brought his rifle around, drawing a bead on one of the dark apparitions. He fired a las round, the sharp crack and red beam of the las bolt issuing forth. It struck the beast dead centre and, nothing. It didn't move, didn't cry out, no reaction. Only another piece of ferracrete, or maybe marble fell down and crashed onto the ground. A gargoyle.

A statue, a sculpture, a tribute perhaps, he had been jumping at shadows and had wasted a perfectly good round on absolutely nothing. He should have been more insistent on merging with another group, the loneliness and dark was getting to him. A-027 squared his shoulders and entered the spire, his mind set. Watched by countless pairs of cold, old eyes.

It was strange to tread through a mausoleum of the dead. It was a place of work, a place of living and daily life. Old cogitators stood unused at the reception desk, empty chairs behind petrified or rotten wooden counters. Wood. Grown and raised from Krieg itself, alive yet dead at the same time. Fallen shelves and empty slot boxes said that no one had lived here for a very long time. A-027's boots rang loudly on the stone floor and it almost seemed an affront. He softened his steps, almost fearful to make too much noise like he had when on the marble floors of the great Imperial Creed Cathedrals. As if the echoes would annoy the ministers and the beadle's would glare disapprovingly, fingering their truncheons ringed with rosary beads.

There was some rotten piles of cloth and fragments of wood mixed in with rusted metal that hinted of furniture, but it could have been anything at one time. Empty pictures hung in decaying frames, any colour having long drained away, so not even the outline remained. A-027 looked around the lobby for easy pickings, hoping that he could find a body and leave.

He came upon one such body, behind what he believed was a reception counter. He felt relief and quiet satisfaction that he had found his prize without having to proceed further. A-027 pulled a glass vial free from one of his pouches and bent to reap his grisly harvest. Just as A-027 was about to retrieve his chip, he noticed the other markings. Someone had already removed bone fragments from this skeleton, several in fact if this deep scratches and broken off pieces of bone were anything to go by.

He could take a fragment from the corpse, no one would question it. No one would ever know of the deception and it wasn't like he would be the first to do it. The bayonet hovered indecisively for a moment, before plunging back into its sheath.

"No, this trooper is better than that," said A-027 to himself. He wouldn't take the easy way out for this test, or anything else. Do it right, or don't do it at all. The best piece of advice, from his best teacher. A-027 felt where the aquilla necklace was beneath his heavy environment suit. It gave him a sense of peace and vindicated his decision. Nothing ever worth doing, was done right the easy way.

He rose quickly, eager now to continue his search, then promptly hit his head on the shelf above him. The spike atop his helmet promptly punctured the old metal of the shelf with a squeal of rending metal. Annoyed, A-027 pulled to try and free his helmet from the wall. His helmet came free, but with half the wall coming with it. The sound was catastrophically loud and it shattered the quiet stillness and sombre attitude of the hive spire.

A-027 was covered in a mini avalanche of rusted metal, petrified wood and rotten plaster. A-027 erupted from the small mountain of debris, sending wood fragments and plaster flying. Angry now at having looked foolish, A-027 ripped the metal free with one hand braced on his helmet and one pulling the shelf off his head. It came free with a drawn out screech, then squawked as A-027's heavy boot crunched it on the ground. The plaster reduced to paste under the heavy footfalls of A-027 as he marched away stiff backed, rifle unslung. The shadows were still at the edge of his vision, real, but intangible.

A hip check helped open a rusted shut door and A-027 put a boot on the first step experimentally, testing to see if it would hold his weight. It sagged inwards like wet paper, but held. Obviously having something stronger to maintain its shape. A-027 repeated this process, making the trek up the stairs, even to the very next level seem tortuously long.

The second floor was gone. Not in the sense that it was caved through though. No, that honour went to the floor exactly thirty four storeys up, which had caved in the rest below it. Whether through a miracle or that the lobby ceiling was stronger, it hadn't broken through to the lobby. So the trek continued with each floor above the other inaccessible. On the 36th floor, A-027 all but broke the door down, already having had to drag his leg out of several holes that could in fact, 'not' hold his weight. It was bad enough that each time his foot fell through, the nausea and fear of falling to the ground was extreme, but if by some fluke it punctured his suit, he would be a very dead Korpsman.

The rusted door stuck fast into the wall, even the rusted push bar was enough to penetrate the decaying wall. The hallway was empty, the carpets having long ago shed their hair and the walls lost their colour. Once decorative wallpaper having long ago shed its splendour and in places metal, stonework, or even brittle wood showed through. Wall lamps that had been set with chem-globes cast out barely enough light to be seen. A-027 swung his flashlight around, the beam piercing the near gloom and guiding his way.

Holes in the floor above his head did little to ease his apprehension that the floor could hold him. He didn't know why, but A-027 waited until he was nearly halfway down the hallway before picking a room to enter. The door was locked, but a well placed shoulder opened it as well as any key. It was funny in a way, he was acting almost like a delinquent juvie; breaking into homes, causing property damage. The thought almost brought a smile to his face. If only the damned shadows would stop following him.

The inside of the hab had once been nice, but like anything else on the surface, was nothing but an echo of what it had once been. His search was finally over though, for inside the hab was his chip. A whole lot of chips.

There were two larger skeletons, as well as three smaller ones; rags of clothing draped about them like a paupers mannequin on display. A long broken window cast a lonely light into the room, a gap in the crumbling spires allowing in just enough light to see without aid.

The skeletons were all piled in a corner, the smaller laying on top of the larger. With a sudden realization, A-027 knew what these skeletons were. A family.

Had they been here when the bombs fell? Huddled together for comfort or protection as nuclear fire rained outside their very home? Had they taken their own lives rather than see the horrors of what was to come in the aftermath? Or maybe yet, they had died slowly from radiation poisoning, their bodies decaying right before their eyes? It was a fate well remembered on Krieg and why those who survived were more resistant to radiation. It was a natural phenomenon. Luck of the genetic draw. Those who survived had already possessed some inherit resistance to it and there genes were passed on to their children. The amount of radiation that would have been around when these Kriegers were alive, would have cooked a lead Adeptus Mechanicus in an environment suit.

Being so close to his goal now, A-027 almost felt timid. Like he was intruding on something sacred, as if he was a grave robber and not putting them to rest at all, but disturbing them from it. Regardless, orders were orders.

With a precise plunge and pry, A-027 freed a bone chip which he promptly deposited into a glass vial. He turned to go, but it just didn't seem right to leave the others here like this. Alone, separated after being so long together in death. This is a weakness, thought A-027, and yet three more vials were produced and three more chips deposited. A-027 put his rifle to the side as he worked, freeing his hands for the grisly, but necessary task.

A-027 had a sudden revelation as he finished depositing the last chip into a vial. He could get more. It wasn't like he was limited to how many chips he was allowed to gather and the more he found, the more souls that he could put at peace. His good mood was ruined by the sudden feeling of being watched and a hard lump formed in his stomach, even as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. It was irrational, but for some primordial reason, he felt in danger.

He reached for his rifle as he turned, feeling the need to protect himself from the perceived danger. He never laid a hang on his rifle. A massive clawed and furred hand closed itself over his mask and head, throwing him like an angry child does a toy. Though a child can't throw a toy through a wall.

It happened so fast and the pain so unexpected, that all A-027 could do was manage a look of surprise behind his mask as he was thrown clean through the wall into the next room. The wall was old, weak and gave easily enough, but it still hurt to go through. A-027 ploughed into an old pict viewer and tumbled end over end, on an ungainly roll on account of his pack. Glass shattered and debris from the wall was thrown all over the room.

A-027 was scrambling for his rifle, when he realized that he had set it against the wall in the other room. He still had his bayonet though. Before he could rise, the creature, the shadow, had already reached him.

It grabbed him and hit him against the ceiling, causing fresh pain to course through A-027's body, but also debris to fall and hit the creature. Some dust or plaster must have landed in its eyes, because it let out a growl and thrust a muscled fur-covered arm in front of its eyes. A-027 used this to lash out with a kick and break free. He rolled backwards and stood dropping his pack to free him up for better mobility.

The creature looked at him with maliciously intelligent yellow eyes, as it brought its claws to the ready. A stalker. A creature that prowled the surfaces of Krieg and had become known shortly after the 'never-ending night.' It was seven feet tall, with long arms and legs. Savagely sharp claws and mind boggling dexterity was its most dominant traits. A-027's greatcoat had several large rips in it, torn by the creatures claws. It was a flak greatcoat, so it seemed that the biology reports hadn't exaggerated at all about their capabilities. The creature was slender, but its claws seemed to be at least a foot in length each. It was mangy, with a flat face and curved back ears. Three claws adorned each foot, but none of that mattered, because A-027 was going to kill this beast.

The creatures hot breath misted in the cold air of the hab as the stalker flexed its claws.. The bayonet caught the light and glinted as it was brought into a fighting stance. The stalker growled lowly and A-027's respirator hissed in response. They rushed each other.

The stalker roared as it charged, a deep yet piercing note that rang strangely clear. A-027 made no sound as he closed the distance besides the thudding of his boots. He ducked the swing of the stalkers claws and gouged it in the side with his bayonet. He quickly slashed the stalker again even as it turned, dark blood almost black burst forth and stained its already dirty and matted fur. It howled in pain and lashed out, batting the bayonet aside and tearing lines into his flak armour. The bayonet was torn from A-027's grip, but before the stalker could attack again he rushed it and tackled it like a star scrumball player straight through the closed door and into the hallway.

A-027 landed on top of the stalker and it struggled to get free. If A-027 had been a smaller man, he might have been thrown off and killed, but as it was he was nearly the same size as the stalker and its height didn't mean it was Herculaneum, but it was close. The stalker stalker hissed, growled and snapped its jaws in his face. The hot breath washing over his mask and its claws continually trying to gut him. It was terrifying, but a part of him had never felt more alive. It seemed to relish in the close and bloody combat.

A-027 hit it exactly as Lord General 01 had taught him and its head rebounded off of the floor beneath them. Dark blood bubbled out of its nose and ran across its face. A clawed hand managed to rake across his mask. Three deep grooves were cut into the dull brass of the mask. For a moment A-027 thought that it had been punctured, but it held true. He didn't know if it had the same anatomy as a human, but it was his only chance. If it got him off of it, then it would be free to gore him as it saw fit.

A-027's fist formed into an open hand, and he put all his weight and power into a palm strike, directed at the creatures already damaged nose. It gave with a sickening crack of bone and the stalker shrieked loudly before another strike finally silenced it. The stalker fell limp, even as dark blood stained the already dirty floor, as well as his gloves.

Suddenly tired, A-027 rolled off the creature and sat with his back to the wall. His heart stopped dead, when he looked more closely at the creature. It had a burn in its right shoulder. A las wound. That was why it had seemed so weak. But he had thought that it was a gargoyle. But if that wasn't a gargoyle- howls suddenly reverberated down the halls and all the spire. Erich could hear footsteps, heavy, fast, inhuman and it was coming his way. As A-027 grabbed his pack, the first stalker rounded the hallway. As he grabbed his rifle, they were halfway to him. A-027 burst into the hallway, running as fast as he could in the direction of the stairwell, popping off a few poorly aimed shots behind him.

Oh, but they were so close. Barely twenty paces behind and closing fast. Leaping from wall to floor, and roof to wall, they were moving as nimbly as any dance acrobat A-027 had ever seen. He primed a grenade and threw it into the mass of flashing claws and slavering maws. Its detonation was magnified in the confined space as hot flame and shrapnel exploded in a whirlwind of death. The defiant floor finally gave way and caved in, encouraged by the detonation, taking many of the shrieking stalkers with it. A lone stalker jumped through the explosion, tackling A-027 through the doorway and into abyss in the centre of the winding stairs. They fell down, down, down.

All he felt was pain. It coursed through his entire body, like a virus it infected every part of his being. Dark serpents clouded his vision as he tried to clear it. He was lying face down, of that he was sure. A-027 pushed himself up on shaky arms and stared into the face of a stalker. It was dead, clear by the lack of anything behind its eyes and the sunken in chest. They fallen through the different landings, the stalker hitting first and absorbing the worst of the fall.

He rolled over on his back and stared up at the stairs, winding ever upwards like a corkscrew, black spots still flashing across his vision, competing with the light leaking in from outside through the cracks in the building. A-027 stared at the flitting shadows, his head still fuzzy with pain and his everything sore. The more he stared, the more A-027 came to realize something in his pain hazed mind. The shadows were only passing over the centre of the staircase, going from side to side. With a shock of panicked adrenaline, he realized that the stalkers were jumping across the gap and getting lower, closer to him.

With a hidden reserve of strength, A-027 threw himself to his feet and ran. He ran for all he was worth, ran faster than he had ever run in his life. His long strides carried him out into the plaza and finally outside, pursued by the howls of the stalkers. Sharp las cracks and more howls, some in rage others in pain, greeted him as he emerged from the spire. There were more.

He couldn't resist a look upwards, then immediately wished that he hadn't. Down the sides of the spire, dozens if not hundreds of the things were climbing down the tower. It was their den, stalkers were a community animal. Where there was one, there was many, many more. This tower must have been their main den and he had disturbed him. None of the gargoyles remained on their perches, fore they hadn't been gargoyles at all.

A-027's feet kicked up dust, dirt and ash as he ran as fast as he could down the street. Tall, dead towers watched his progress with dead eyes, content to watch his fate and leave him to it. The shrieks were all around him, but there was also many las cracks all around. There was still hope. A-027 had what he needed now, so all he needed was to make it back. As he rounded a corner, A-027 almost put a las round through another Korpsman being pursued by a trio of stalkers. He quickly switched his aim to the stalkers behind the Korpsman and put the first stalker down with a well placed shot between the eyes. The other stalker was taken down by a barrage of las rounds from both A-027 and the other Korpsman. Steam rose from the stricken stalkers, but the last closed in, mouth slavering.

A-027 met the leaping stalker with an out-thrust bayoneted rifle. The leap of the stalker and a careful redirection by trooper A-027 sent it soaring over his head and onto the ground behind him. He and the other Korpsman stabbed down with their bayonets, until the stalker was as pockmarked as a plague victim and it stopped struggling. There were still more stalkers though, and a pair of Korpsman wouldn't survive long on their own.

"Follow this trooper and watch his back and he'll watch yours," commanded A-027 even though he didn't have the authority to command anyone. The Korpsman nodded sharply.

"Trooper A-120," he said by way of introduction.

"Trooper A-027."

They moved through the streets, picking up more and more Korpsman until they were at platoon strength with twenty five troopers. Some were dug into store fronts, or locked into brutal hand to hand combat with stalkers. Some they managed to save and others found atonement early. The more firepower they had, the easier it was to keep the stalkers back, no matter their numbers. A stalker made the mistake of showing itself and was literally exploded by 25 las rounds. They moved as a unit, like they had been taught, watching every corner, every possible ambush area. It seemed stupid now that they hadn't done it to begin with. You fought as a unit or you died, it was simple luck if you died or lived in a fight if you did as you were trained. Luck.

That bastard grenadier had known that this was going to happen! Cursed A-027 to himself. He had known what they were walking into, known what was waiting for them. And for what? What purpose would they have to keep this from them? Deep down though, he knew. A-027 knew that it was to teach them this lesson. For a lesson, they were willing to risk an entire company of Korpsman. It seemed like a terrible waste. But a lesson learned like this was never forgotten.

They came upon another platoon beset by stalkers, and they fell upon the beasts from behind. A Korpsman leapt from a pile of rubble and speared a stalker in the skull with his bayonet. Another stalker was blown to pieces by a grenade, and many more were turned to smoking ruin by disciplined las fire. Korpsman were killed too. Suits punctured, run through by claws, torn apart. It was brutal.

The stalkers though, are not a creature to attack large groups, even if they themselves are in one. With the merging of the two platoons, something seemed to trigger in the stalkers brains and they fled. Scampering, running, leaping, moving in any way that they could to escape, pursued by las bolts. When the last las bolt had died away, it was almost serenely quiet, the towers loomed high above them as if wondering which of the Korpsman would join its cadre of the dead.

The Korpsman scanned the surrounding buildings and alleys, looking for any evidence of stalkers waiting, watching just out of sight. No one seemed too keen to move, but A-027 would be damned if he was going to spend the night in this city. They had roughly half the company and they could make it out shortly if they moved now. But that would just leave the other half to die. That wasn't how the guard did things, and standing orders were that if situation allowed, no guardsmen was to be left behind. A-027 could here the stalkers moving just out of sight, now that he knew what to listen for. The shadows at the edges of his vision weren't just shadows, but very real things that did indeed, for lack of a better word, stalk you.

"All right listen up!" called out A-027 like he was the company senior for the day. "There are still Korpsman in there ruins and sons of Krieg don't leave anyone behind. We don't leave until we have every breathing Korpsman with us; the dead can be handled by the quartermasters."

"Trooper, this trooper doesn't believe that you have any authority over us, so stop acting like you are a senior Korps member. It is more tactically feasible to finish out objective, losses are unfortunate, but acceptable in any mission. It was trooper A-004, an average Korpsman, but one who excelled at following every order to the letter. In A-027's opinion, he was also one for only doing whatever he was told and never venturing further. If it wasn't spelled out, then he was sure that trooper A-004 wouldn't do it.

"This trooper doesn't care what you think, but you're right. This trooper doesn't have any authority over you. This trooper only has a dedication to duty that you obviously seem to be lacking. This trooper will no show cowardice by refusing to help its fellow troopers, by refusing to meet the enemy. This trooper has no authority over you, and you have no authority over it. But this trooper will not leave anyone behind." A-027 readied his las rifle with a hum of an activating power cell and marched off in search of other survivors. To a man they followed him, shadows dancing just at the edge of their vision.

The rest of the Korpsmen were easy enough to find. They just had to find the building with the most stalkers prowling around the outside. A few las shots scared them off and left a few dead. Eyes glinted in every alley they passed and were greeted with las shots. Indistinct shapes moved behind windows and the Korpsman shot at them every chance they got, until they realized that they would run out of ammo long before they ever left the city at this rate. So they continued walking, shadowed just out of sight by the prowling stalkers.

The building that the rest of the Korpsman were stranded in, had a wide, large window at the front. It offered a clear field of fire in a 180' arc and copious firing angles. Against a ranged enemy, it was a terrible place to make a stand, but for one that needed to get close, it was just right.

A-027 held up his hand as they approached, and they were allowed entry into the building. It soon became obvious as to why they hadn't moved, there were far too many wounded. None with serious suit breaches, for those were dead. The ones with minor breaches had the holes patched with an adhesive plastic and an anti radiation-chemical cocktail injected into them. The rest had broken bones, or some other kind of impact wound. Their limbs were splinted, or else laid out on any available flat surface to provide comfort as well as firing points. Even wounded as they were, if they wanted to survive, they were expected to fight. The quartermaster was the one to greet A-027.

"Are you the one in charge of this group?" he asked, seemingly unconcerned by the roaming stalkers.

"No, this trooper just couldn't leave other guardsmen behind needlessly. I went looking, the others followed."

"So they all just followed you without question?" asked the quartermaster.

"No, some objected to staying, but in the end they all came," answered A-027. "Krieg doesn't leave its soldiers behind. It would completely undermine the entire cause of our mission if we were to merely only consider our own lives more important than any other. If this trooper may ask quartermaster, what can we do to be of assistance.?"

"Well, I need bodies to help carry the more severely injured. Many of them can walk, but they will need to be protected. Can I count on you Korpman to do this?"

"Yes quartermaster," answered A-027 immediately, chest puffing out slightly. "What is the plan for retrieving the remaining Korpsman. This trooper volunteers to stay behind with a group of others and search."

"There isn't a need trooper, their all dead," said the quartermaster turning to help make the other Korpsman ready for their journey.

"Dead quartermaster? How can we be sure that they are all dead?"

"Because trooper," said the quartermaster, an edge creeping into his voice at being questioned about who was alive and who wasn't that were under his care. "I have an auspex reader with the status of every live Korpsman in the company. Everyone who is alive is here. Now do you need me to repeat myself or is once enough for you? Do you think that you are better qualified than me to make that judgement, that you can try to bully me around like you have these troopers." A-027 was surprised at the accusation. He hadn't tried to bully anyone, least of all a superior in the Korps. He had merely done what he believed was the correct course of action. He hadn't made anyone follow him, with threats or otherwise. Then again, there was a reason that people would look negatively on things he did.

"No quartermaster, this trooper understands."

"Good," said the quartermaster, "But keep that tone out of your voice. You're a trooper."

"Yes quartermaster."

The quartermaster took over officially, yet unofficially. They improvised stretchers and switched between who would carry the wounded and who would watch out for stalker activity. The wounded were in the middle, surrounded by a wall of las rifles and that wall bristling with gleaming bayonets. It took several extra hours, to make it back to where they started from. It was nightfall by the time they made it back to the gate and the stalkers had been becoming ever more bold, running barely twenty paces away from the closes man, and even trying to grab a Korpman at the rear. The light of the las rifles had killed it, and illuminated many more thinking of doing the same thing.

It had grated on their nerves, and they were edgy and tired, but they had made it. The automated defences began firing on the stalkers, causing them to withdraw. Another thing that should have caught his attention, but didn't. The turrets.

Wearily they trudged to the door and waited. It opened, and the wounded were brought in first. After that, those that were inspected were allowed in, a chip as the price. A-027 noticed trooper A-120 lagging back, hesitating to go towards the gate.

"Come on trooper its time to go," said A-027 to A-120. He looked up startled, then looked away as if ashamed.

"This trooper lost its chip when the stalkers attacked. I wasn't able to get another." A-027 knew what had to be done. He walked quickly up to the trooper and reached into his belt by his bayonet. Trooper A-120 readied his rifle, but was surprised when a glass vial with a chip in it was produced.

"Take it and head inside. We've all earned our place in the Korps." A-120 took it hesitantly.

"This trooper didn't get it," he protested.

"Think of it as a replacement."

"But you need one."

"This trooper has extra."

"Thank you."

"There is nothing to thank this trooper for," said A-027 wearily walking to the gate and handing in his chips. He didn't sleep well that night, his dreams filled with shadows that grabbed at him with claws.

AN: Holy that took a long time. I know that these chapter are huge, but when I update I like to actually give enough to read for awhile instead of just a 1000-2000 word blurb. I've read some very good stories that are like that, but to me it just seems like it just whets my appetite. So hopefully this is a good enough chunk (as well as an actually good story) Unfortunately as a consequence, there will be some grammar mistakes or some sentences that don't make sense because I was thinking faster than I could type. Seriously this is 61 pages of text. Saying 'this trooper,' was a pain, but it is probably more in line with the whole Korps idea, so I think it's okay. Doesn't mean I have to like it though, I had to change I to this trooper, way too many times. So, now Erich is a full fledged Korpsman and now can start trying to get revenge on those pesky eldar. Any feedback is appreciated, and if you have any questions, comments, concerns, dirty jokes (Not it the review panel please) let me know and I'll try to fix any glaring grammar problems or canon whoopsies. It will be a long while before the next chapter comes out, but it will be in the same word range as they ones. In case I forgot, I do not in any way shape or form own warhammer or work for black library. Although avoid the book "Emperors finest." If that is the title of the book I'm thinking of, it's not very good. (Shudders) Las guns that can only fire once every few seconds.


	3. Chapter 3 Among the Stars

**Among the Stars**

AN: Sometimes I think that I'm putting in too many female characters in my story, but then again most of the time stories are heavy in male characters, sometimes exclusively so I think I'm balancing the gender scale pretty good. I think that I should say up front, or...sixty thousand words in that Erich's journey is going to span a few stories. Sometimes I think I ramble on things that aren't really necessary to the plot, so if I do it too much let me know. I usually don't ask for people to have OC's put into a story, but I mean I'm going to need a lot of filler and I have about a dozen characters to go through and stories for them, but with the length of these, I could probably have a few scenes or a chapter dealing with a couple of guys. So PM me if you have an idea, but I'm warning you right now, it could be a very long time before the character shows up. I'll send a message though if I decide that I can use them at one point or another. Also for those who like Phear, Elisha, Inquisitor Charles, or any other character, it will be a while before they're put back into the story. Sorry that this one took a little longer to put out, but school likes homework and studying to write a ground school exam takes a bit of time. One more thing to add to my list of excuses is that I've moved houses in the intervening months and for those of you who may not be aware, a piano is reaaally heavy.

_Away, away, oh so far away, from home, from hearth, so far from all that we know. take heart, take joy, for away we go._

_Away, away, oh so far away, through the stars, the flames, burning so bright, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go._

_Away, away, oh so far away, full of life, love, and hope that we feel, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go._

_Away, away, oh so far away, we tread, we fight, we give it our all, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go._

_Away, away, oh so far away, we'll fall, we'll die, we've gave it our all, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go._

_Away, away, oh so far away, we'll lay, we'll rest, in the peace that we've won, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go._

_Away, away, oh so far away, don't cry, don't weep, we've won the Emperor's light, so far from all that we knew, take heart, take joy, for away we have gone._

It was a short song, a marching cadence most likely, but so very old. At one time, when Krieg had still had the right, its soldiers had sung it as they departed Krieg to destinations unknown. It was a sad song, of that there was no doubt, but the life of a guardsman, a Korpsman, often is. Very few, if any ever survived long enough in the guard to retire. Fewer still ever made it back to their home planet. For away, away, oh so far away, so far from all that we know, for away we go. A fitting song, but one that they weren't allowed to sing, yet still taught.

A-027 knew that he was ready, knew that he done everything right, but some nagging daemon of doubt still pervaded in him, making him believe that his equipment was flawed. That he would fail. A-027 risked a quick look that momentarily quelled the daemon of doubt. His boots were like a mirror, his creases were sharp enough to cut, his weapon gleamed in the light, and the slash marks across his mask were allowed. He was standing in a column of over 100 000 other Korpsman graduates, all participating in the mass graduation parade. After which, they would be assigned to regiments and given their final positions within the Korps. The parade was going to take the better part of the day and they would be under the scrutinizing gaze of enterprising regimental commanders. The idea of making an impression was near non-existent, but still. A-027 puffed out his chest a little as the brass bands began to play and the drums to beat. They marched under unfurled Aquilla banners, either side of the parade route lined by silent Kriegers. The cadence was like that of approaching thunder, washing over them inescapably like the web of fate.

The Governor's private viewing box was a very prestigious place to be. It was lush, roomy, and filled with some of the most politically and militarily important members of Krieg society. A representative from each of the 22 noble families were present, all except from the Von Shreider family. Their absence was the topic of polite conversation, but lost in lieu of the fine food and flow of drink that seemed never-ending. Smartly dressed servants served members of the ecclesiarchy, munitorum, ministorum, adeptus telepathica, and members of the Governor's own personal staff. Death Korpsman officers stood or sat quietly to the sides, awaiting the arrival of the parade.

The parade served a twofold purpose on Krieg. The first, obviously, marked the full graduation of the recruits to Korpsman and was their time to feel pride in what they had accomplished. The second, was to showcase the Korpsman to the new regimental commanders. On Krieg, there was a...shortage of senior officers and while many other experienced Korpsman could be promoted to lieutenant colonel or colonel, but sometimes there simply wasn't enough. So on occasion, rarely though, very rarely, a more senior guard officer was called in to command a regiment of Korpsman. One such colonel was already late and his soon to be commissar was less than impressed.

Jamal Osei brushed down his commissariat greatcoat, trying to remove some of the dust in his annoyance that seemed to gather perpetually on anything in Krieg. It was more than unprofessional to show up late for a graduation parade, it was downright disrespectful. Some of Osei's more strict, or hotheaded colleagues would have felt inclined to put a bolt round into the skull of the colonel for this, but Osei had learned that it was better to reason with the guardsmen and try to iron out any problems with them. It allowed a healthy working relationship, as well as advantageous to ones health. Commissars who decided to take the easy way out by using the bolt pistol as a first choice soon found the action reciprocated by the guardsmen under their command.

"Completely and utterly disrespectful," muttered Osei checking his commissariat hat, before returning it to his head. When Osei stood around he felt the need to do something, anything actually. He felt a need to feel like he was doing something useful, productive, and waiting for a colonel was not productive in the least.

"Did you need something commissar?" asked a voice to his side. Osei looked over and saw a grim Death Korps officer in full dress talking to him.

"No, just talking to myself," said Osei smiling, white teeth breaking the dark backdrop of his face. Friendly eyes set in a full face completed the smile. Among other things taught to Osei at the scholam progneium, was how to be friendly and reassure those under him. To be a figure to be feared, but also treated as a person to confide in. The Korps officer just stared at him for a moment, before turning back to the as of yet empty parade avenue and waiting for the Korpsmen to begin marching past.

The smile slipped from Osei's face, tucked away for later use. There was simply no use in trying to be friendly to these Korpsmen. Osei didn't even know why they even needed a commissar. They had the absolute lowest disciplinary or desertion rate in the whole of the Imperial Guard. It was useless to try and motivate them; songs wouldn't stir them to any great lengths and they would throw themselves at the most terrifying enemies of the Imperium at a word, without hesitation. There were regiments that needed a much higher commissariat presence, as long as it wasn't Catachan.

An engine roar interrupted Osei's thoughts and he looked to the outside of the viewing box behind them and saw a bright white staff limo accelerating towards them. It was rimmed with gold and the tires were white-walled.

Osei's hand was on his chainsword and bolt pistol in an instant, but before he could draw either the limo slewed to the side with a screech of breaks and even a little smoke. It stopped only several metres from the entrance to the viewing box and nearly a dozen ceremonially dressed grenadiers had surrounded it, hellguns raised.

The back door opened and a glossy black riding boot emerged, shortly followed by the rest of the man. Colonel Stanton. Osei couldn't believe his eyes. The man was dressed in the full uniform of the Praetorian guard regiments with stark white pants, crimson jacket lined with gold, and more medals than an entire general staff. He had a black tricorne hat and the biggest moustache that Osei had ever seen. Stanton's bulky augmetic hand waved cheerfully as he closed the distance rapidly towards them, heedless of the dozen or so rifles aimed at him.

"Colonel Stanton," said Osei incredulous, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Ah Commissar Osei, my boy. How are you? Well I hope, simply ghastly lighting down here, can't see a thing."

"I'm thirty-eight sir," said Osei less than pleased at being called boy, "and you're late." Colonel Stanton looked aghast, turning to the commissar, the look of a child who had just dropped its ice cream on his face.

"Are you saying I missed the parade?" asked Stanton, sounding mortified.

"No sir, but-"

"Then no worries!" replied Stanton enthusiastically, slapping Osei on the back with his natural hand. "Now where are the drinks, I do hope that they have something to keep me warm down here," said Stanton making his way over to the refreshment table.

"Sir, we really must discuss which regiment you wish to take command of," said Osei plying his commissariat trained discipline and resisting the voice inside of his head that was urging him to shoot the man, before he caused some sort of incident or something bad in general.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, we'll certainly need to talk on that at some point," said Stanton giving Osei only a moment of attention, before returning his attention to the Krieg servant, complete with mask and white formal gloves. Osei felt a flutter of irritation at being blown off by the colonel. The first meeting with a guard officer was always the most important. Come down heavy handed if you must, but make sure they knew that they couldn't walk all over you.

"Give me the best you have, I'm feeling illustrious today and I want to celebrate," said Stanton grandly. "The sky's the limit for what I'm willing to pay."

"It's free sir," said the servant monotone.

"Of course it is!" laughed Stanton, his brown eyes alight with warmth and his cheeks flushed. He was a little pudgy, but he still passed the guard fitness requirements and that was what mattered, even if his belly did seem to age with him.

"Would you like to try Androsia's delight?" asked the servant politely.

"Why bring it out my boy, I've been dying to try that stuff." Stanton chuckled good humouredly.

"Sir This is very important that we discuss, you need to pick a regiment," said Osei more seriously.

"I know Osei, calm down lad. I do my best thinking and conversing with a drink in my hand."

"It's commissar, colonel, and I hope you can remember that," said Osei, steel in his words, tone all business. "I am your adviser, a motivator for the men. I am not your friend, nor am I your lad, boy, or any other nickname that you think of, are we clear?"

"Oh come now commissar, don't be a sourpuss. I get enough of that from these Krieg fellows here, glum bunch the lot of them, good guardsmen though," conceded Stanton. Osei felt a moment of shock that the colonel was blowing him off yet again, usually most guardsmen were respectful or fearful enough of the sash and hat to listen when a commissar spoke.

"Sir, your drink," said the servant holding a bubbling glass in one hand and the bottle in the other."

"Oh yes, quite right, quite right," said Stanton reaching and grabbing the bottle from the servant and turning to go.

"Sir," said the servant stern, but surprised.

"Oh yes, how could I have been so uncouth?" asked Stanton flashing a warm smile. He turned back and daintily plucked the glass from the servants other hand. "Drinking from the bottle like a beast is just bad form," said Stanton imperiously. "Bad form." He walked towards a red plush chair, leaving the servant standing stunned, arm still outstretched.

"Sir," said Osei voice sharp as a powersword. "You do realize that disrespecting a commissar of his Imperial Majesty's Guard is an offence punishable by death?"

"Yes, I've never quite understood why people are so thick-headed that they don't even realize that they're treading on such thin ice. The senior officers and commissars need to work together for the betterment of all, wouldn't you agree? It is simply ridiculous that so many of my colleagues have met an end like that out of pride. Such a waste, an absolute waste. " Osei felt like smacking the colonel for his stupidity.

"Colonel you don't understand what I'm saying and it's starting to annoy me," said Osei freeing the safety flap of his holster for added intimidation. He was growing quite tired of this man and his flippant ways that bordered on insubordination. Sometimes you had to let your absolute authority fall with the weight of an earth shaker round to let it be known.

Stanton looked thoughtful for a moment, before sipping gingerly on his glass and let out a pleased sigh. "Ah, now that's good stuff," said Stanton downing the rest of the glass. He was in the process of refilling it, when Osei had, had enough.

He drew his bolt pistol held it loosely at his side, making his threat clear for even the dullest of guard officers. The Krieg officers watched on with apathetic interest.

"Colonel, you fail to understand what I am saying, so I am going to make this perfectly clear for you and I will not repeat myself, do _you_ understand?" asked Osei voice low and dangerous.

"You're wrong commissar, do you know that?" said Stanton swirling the refilled drink in his hand.

"What?" asked Osei, torn between anger and disbelief at the colonel's disrespect.

"I understand full well that you meant me and that you're threatening to kill me if I don't treat everything we do like a formal exchange, and you know what? I don't care. I've been a soldier a long time Osei, a long time. I've seen enough and done enough to drive a hundred men insane. I know what you mean, how you hold your pistol just so, your hat on just the right angle and I'm not impressed. You don't scare me, you can't. You're a basket of kittens compared to what I've faced. Oh, believe me you're intimidating. Broad, tall, skin like night, striking with your commissariat uniform, but ultimately not enough. The reason that I don't fear you Osei, is that I don't fear death. It's an old companion that's passed me over for a younger date. In truth I think that I want to die, but in the end I will anyways, that's the guard for you. I've lost too many friends, too many soldiers under my command to bear the thought of facing any other end. Why pray tell, do you think I'm here to be put in charge of a regiment from another planet? What pray tell, do you think happened to my last regiment?"

"They died?" asked Osei, already knowing the answer.

"To a man, some of them had served with me since the beginning. Forty years, from Praetoria all over every segmentum in the Imperium. We saw wonders, horrors, and everything in between the two. It was so heroic, the battles, the victories, the celebrations. We were heroes, they still are heroes," said Stanton seeming to sink into his chair. "They died, just like all of us eventually will. So sit back, have a drink, enjoy life while you can and don't threaten a man finding your depth. I must say though, I was given quite a fine chap in you. Most other commissar's would have blown my brains all over the floor."

"I still might."

"You might," said Stanton nodding his head in affirmation. "But how about we wait till after the parade hmm? I do wish to see what these lads look like in all their splendour, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose I could wait until the end of the parade," said Osei, not really having intended on shooting Stanton anyways. He didn't really like shooting guardsmen unless their was absolutely no alternative. Having them think that you would though, was never a bad thing in itself.

"That's good, but commissar?"

"Yes colonel?"

"You really try this Androsia's delight, it is simply to die for." Then again, sometimes he was tempted. Osei saw Stanton stop a servant with a box of cigars and shove a handful into his pocket before putting one into his mouth, his augmetic limb producing a cigar cutter and then a flame to light it. Sometimes Osei was tempted a lot.

The parade was all that it was promised to be, and what it was expected to be. Brass and woodwind instruments put out an uplifting beat that was required to be played with graduation of any guard soldiers. The formation and drill was flawless, not a button out of place or a boot unpolished. It was as precise and as disciplined as anything else on Krieg. It was a fine showcase for the prospecting colonels to decide once and for all if they wanted a commission in a Krieg regiment. They were duly warned of the dangerous assignments Krieg regiments took on. Few ever turned down a commission, for most this was their last chance at a command. Some on Krieg disapproved of allowing off-world commanders taking control of their regiments, but the Krieg officer cadre had never been exceptionally large.

"Osei, do you see the large fellow in the front there? A real brute, a fine specimen of a guardsman. Just look at the size of him, and the scratches down his mask, are you sure that he's a recruit?" Stanton had a pair on magnoculars to his eyes and was focusing in on a very tall Korpsman in the front rank.

"It is a graduation parade colonel, so yes they are all recruits. I've heard that the final test for Korpsmen is much more, realistic then most other regiments," answered Osei.

"I want him," said Stanton flatly. "What regiment is he in? I want that one." Stanton was like an over eager boy picking a toy for his birthday simply by the picture on the box.

"Colonel Stanton, picking a regiment isn't just finding a single soldier you like and picking his regiment. There is a process, a procedure to picking your commission."

"Quite right," said Stanton pouring himself another drink. "So how would I go about picking my regiment?" Osei was getting a little worried for the colonel, he was drinking a rather lot of liquor for it being so early in the morning. But it was a parade, so maybe it was okay.

"Well I've got a slate here with all the different regiments that are available and the guardsmen that will be under your command."

"So out of curiosity's sake, could you find any guardsman that wanted in there?"

"I could do that, but I really don't think that it's a good idea."

"Just humour me Osei, be a sport."

"Oh alright. Let's see, front of the parade, from training company alpha, and he is from the 12th heavy siege regiment, assault and trench raiding."

"Ha, ha, huh, assault hey? Just the kind of man I want in my regiment."

"Says here that he assumed command of the final training exercise and tried to take over for the quartermaster. Says that he was talking down to his superior and doubting that there were no more survivors. It says that he tried to intimidate his superior," said Osei disapprovingly.

"A go getter, just what I like," Stanton turned to Osei a strange look coming across his face. "What do you mean survivors?"

"Like I said colonel, the Kriegers make things much more realistic." For a moment colonel Stanton looked his age and he leaned heavily against the gilded railing.

"Eighteen year old men, barely more than boys and they have them die in training? What has the guard come to? Have we run out of soldiers, so we send boys with peach fuzz between their legs to do a mans work? How about a guardswoman regiment?" Stanton laughed humorously. "Emperor knows that our women can apparently fight too. Why don't we just use more of them and keep our men at home to care for children instead of sending them off?"

"The age requirements are different on Krieg colonel."

"Oh, so they're in their twenties are they? I suppose that's better. I myself was only 19 years old when I joined, but I was from a proper military family you see. I was much better prepared for life in the guard," said Stanton like a man who enjoyed telling stories and would continue indefinitely until asked to stop; then either be offended or hurt at being told to stop.

"Actually they are allowed to join at fifteen. Fourteen with parental consent." Stanton didn't answer to that. He just kept watching the parade, his impromptu story forgotten.

"Commissar?" he said at length, the jovial tone gone.

"Yes colonel?"

"Put we down for the 12th heavy siege regiment would you?"

"Colonel I would recommend that you wait and see the Korpsmen for yourself, before you make a decision."

"I don't want to," said Stanton gruffly. "It's much easier that way, better that way."

"Easier for what?" asked Osei, but already half expecting the answer. Stanton looked back over his shoulder at the commissar.

"To send them to their death of course. I'll have to do it eventually. Cheers," said Stanton draining yet another glass. "And here I thought that this would be different. What can I do with children?" They watched the parade for a time before Stanton spoke up again.

"Commissar Osei, I don't want you thinking that I'm some kind of fatalist or melodramatic. Usually I'm far more upbeat and far less depressing, though ever since I've landed on this planet, its felt like an oppressive weight has been put on me you know? I mean just look at this place," Stanton gestured vaguely around him. "It's a most deplorable place to train, not to mention live. I mean my dogs live in better conditions than this."

Osei was only half paying attention to what Stanton was saying, more so paying attention to the Kriegers who were giving Stanton their full attention.

"I mean who would want to live in a hole in the ground?" continued Stanton oblivious to the hostile looks he was getting from the Korpsmen. "A hole is where you relieve yourself or bury things that you don't want to see anymore. Then again who would ever want to see this place again? Come to Krieg, where happiness comes to die." Stanton laughed profusely at his own joke, a great belly shaking guffaw. "I could see why they would use this planet as a training ground though, once you came here you'd be willing to charge into the eye itself if it meant that you didn't have to come back here. Wouldn't you agree commissar?"

"I think that we should go colonel," said Osei in a far too level voice.

"Hmm? Why? The parade isn't anywhere near done and I haven't finished my drink," said Stanton holding up his glass for viewing.

"Colonel, your glass in empty." Stanton looked at his glass and made a sound of alarm. He quickly refilled it from the bottle.

"Bad form to leave a glass empty during a celebration, especially bad form. Almost as bad as the masks these fellows wear. Look at me, I wear a mask, I must be a robust stone cold killing machine, ooh," said Stanton draining his already refilled glass.

"I think that it would be advisable to leave," said Osei noting the now openly hostile looks that the other Korps officers and now even the nobles were giving the colonel.

"Are you saying that you want to leave?" asked Stanton tipsily. "But the party's only just starting my boy. Look, my glass is empty again. Fancy that. I could have sworn it was full a moment ago."

"You can refill it in the car."

"But I might run out," said Stanton refilling and draining his glass yet again. The mans tolerance for alcohol was astounding, but Osei was half certain that Stanton had been drinking before he had even come to the parade. "Come to Krieg, where the only sunlight you'll find is in your dreams." Stanton laughed again while Osei cleared his throat and flexed his fingers, watching the other Kriegers who to a man were looking at them now.

"Sir, if you wish to leave, you can take whatever you want from the refreshments table," said a formally clad servant walking up to colonel Stanton.

"Oh no, I couldn't leave in the middle of the parade, that would just be bad form," said Stanton.

"The Death Korps officers assure me that it would be fine if you leave," replied the servant immediately.

"Are you sure?"

"They insisted on it," said the servant as Stanton lit a cigar.

"But it just seems-"

"I insist sir," said the servant.

"Anything I want from the table you say? Anything at all?"

"Take whatever you like, so long as you leave."

"Aha! I knew you Kriegers couldn't possibly as barren as your world or women in your hospitality," proclaimed Stanton in drunken cheer. A Death Korps major actually stood from his chair, hand flying to his holster, before a look from Osei stilled him. After a minor stare down though.

When Osei looked back, Stanton was already at the refreshment table picking out the vintage that he wished to take with him. Apparently unable to make up his mind, he grabbed an armful of bottles off of the table and began to walk back towards his limo, his loot in hand. The uncorked bottle of Androsia's delight leaking the entire way out. Osei felt immensely embarrassed and wished to disassociate himself with the colonel entirely. However, he just couldn't stay mad at the man. His jovial attitude and almost naive way of doing things made him seem like a child who didn't know any better. The man was a competent leader, of that there was no doubt. His Praetorian's had won many battles for him and he had fought in some of the toughest fronts in the Imperium.

Still, it seemed like the toughest battle to be faced would be keep him alive in the presence of his own peers.

Osei followed the colonel out and had the dubious honour of helping load all the swag into the limo. As Stanton entered the limo, the cigar dropped onto the trail of Androsia's delight and it burst into merry flame, leading back to the viewing box. The grenadiers managed to stamp it out and spray it with enough fire extinguishing materials that it never reached the viewing box. When they were done, the limo was long gone.

"I know this wonderful gentleman's club down by the spaceport that I know you will simply love commissar," said Stanton, a cigar the only thing in his hand at the moment, finally having decided that he didn't want anymore liquor. "Do you have a headache commissar?" Osei was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger roughly.

"No, I don't have a headache," said Osei stiffly. "Do you have any idea what you just did back there, any idea at all?"

"I had a smashing good time," proclaimed Stanton. Osei resisted the urge to strangle the man.

"What kind of gentleman's club is this anyways?"

"It has the loveliest ladies you will ever meet and it is the most prestigious kind of club that I am sure we will both enjoy and wish to venture to." Stanton got a far too happy look at his face and let loose a pleased chuckle. "And there is this one girl whom is simply marvellous."

"A high class gentleman's club at the spaceport?"

"Yes, why do you ask?" Osei fixed Stanton with a stare that let him know that he didn't believe him in the slightest.

"It's a fine club that we'll both enjoy and want to go to with a mainly female employment record," edited Stanton. Osei didn't look away.

"It's a club that we'll like to visit with a mainly female employment. It's a club that we'll like to visit that the women who work there don't wear a lot of clothes. It's a strip club that we'll both like to go to. I want to go to a strip club," said Stanton, his last answer Osei finally accepted as the truth. Osei sighed wearily.

"It's going to be a long day."

After the parade was finished the new Korpsman were put into their new regiments and given their new designation. A-027 became obsolete and his new official title became, HS-0817-0012-5-2-1. Or 12th heavy siege regiment, 817th trooper, fifth battalion, second company, first platoon. For day to day purposes it would be HS-0817, or 0817. If things were extremely informal.

There would now be a two week grace period in which the Korpsmen could return home if they so chose to close any remaining ties that they had. Not many chose to take part in it, but some did and 0817 planned on taking full advantage of it. He was looking forward to seeing, with a momentary surge of panic 0817 discovered that he couldn't remember her name. What was it?

He began listing everything he knew about her that he could. Silver hair, no blond. Hazel eyes, like the colour of the wood that lined the halls of the Von Shreider estate. It started with an e. Erika? No, that was wrong. Emily? No, that wasn't it either. 0817 wracked his brain and eventually it hit him like a hammer blow. Elisha. How could he have forgotten anything about her? How could he have forgotten something so simple if even for a moment? It was soothing though, remembering her name. It lifted the net of panic he had cast about himself and acted like a salve on his mind.

"Excuse me, I need to get by."

"This trooper is sorry," said 0817 stepping to the side. He had been standing in the middle of the hallway and blocking the way for the other Korpsman. He walked on quickly and efficiently, heading for the tram station for his last visit to his family. The same visit that 0817 intended on making.

He hefted his 50 kilogram pack onto his back with one arm and secured the straps. He wasn't allowed to retain his rifle in the general public and it left him feeling a little vulnerable. 0817 wished that he was an officer or at least a sergeant so that he could carry a pistol on his person, but he wasn't and personal weapons were not allowed in the Korps.

He set a quick pace down the corridor, generally ignoring what was going on around him, but checking the travelling text on pict screens built into the wall to see if there was anything terribly relevant to him that needed attention. It was mostly just day to day announcements though, training schedules, news from Krieg hives, and an interesting story about the Adeptus Mechanicus building a new facility on behalf of an unknown beneficiary.

So focused was 0817 on his progression that he nearly ran over an Imperial Guard Commissar, and a short one at that.

0817 stopped immediately and came to attention, snapping a sharp salute.

"Ma'am," said 0817 holding the salute. The commissar was a small woman with blond hair just above her shoulders and keen blue eyes. She actually seemed surprised that 0817 was in front of her.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you," said the commissar looking up from a book in her hand and smiling. "It's only cadet commissar though." She walked past 0817 and took about ten steps before realizing that 0817 hadn't moved and was still saluting where she had been. She walked back up in front of him, a perplexed look on her face. "What are you doing?"

"Saluting you ma'am," replied 0817.

"Oh," said the commissar seeming surprised again and slightly wide-eyed again and saluted him back. The millisecond that her arm started to descend, 0817 snapped his arm back down to his side.

"Have a good day ma'am," said 0817 moving around her to continue on his way.

"Why were you saluting even when I wasn't in front of you?" asked the commissar to 0817's back. 0817 turned around quickly worried that he had attempted to leave before the commissar was finished speaking to him and hence liable for punishment for breaking protocol.

"Imperial Guard regulations state that a salute must be held until it is returned by a superior officer, or commissar unless circumstances make it detrimental to ones duties or conflicts with battlefield conditions ma'am."

"How long were you going to hold it?" asked the commissar still seeming surprised.

"Until you returned it, or for the recommended Korps period ma'am."

"How long is that?"

"Two hours ma'am." Surprise seemed to be the default expression on the young commissars face.

"Why?" The simple question took 0817 off guard and for a moment he was too stunned to speak. The answer seemed so simple to him that it shouldn't need to be explained.

"It's the rules," he finally stammered out. "Any less than that and this trooper would be disrespecting a member of the the Emperor's commissariat and that is unforgivable. Ma'am," he remembered to add.

"So you're saying that you would have stood there for two hours if I hadn't returned the salute?" asked the young commissar as if trying to make sure that she had heard correctly.

"At a minimum ma'am." The commissar cadet shook her head and chuckled to herself as some joke known only to her.

"I should have asked to be put in a Krieg regiment," she said amused.

"Cadet commissar. If This trooper may enquire, what regiment did you get assigned to? Ma'am." The smile left her face and she said it so quickly and mumbled it that 0817 didn't catch it all.

"This trooper is sorry ma'am, It didn't quite understand what you said," said 0817 politely.

"Catachan," she said still lowly, as if afraid of being overheard.

"This trooper understands that they have an outstanding combat record ma'am, it most be an honour to be amongst them."

"Yeah an honour," repeated the cadet commissar half to herself. "If I can actually find where they are." Her face lit up as if a great idea had just struck her.

"Hey, we're here on a layover between deployments and I've gotten a bit lost. Do you think that you could show me to quarters, B-28?"

"This trooper would consider it a privilege to assist a member of the commissariat," said 0817, feeling important and loyal for helping the young commissar cadet.

0817 led the cadet commissar down twisting, winding, and confusing corridors that made up the central Korps command and training structure. He cleared the way for her and occasionally had to get her attention when they had to make a turn, so involved was she in her book.

"Can I ask you a question?" asked the cadet commissar.

"Of course ma'am, this trooper will answer any question that you ask."

"Why do you refer to yourself as I, or this trooper?"

"It is standard procedure amongst Korps personnel and especially newly trained Korpsmen ma'am. It takes the focus away from the individual and makes them realize that they are merely a tiny gear in the larger machine that is the Korps."

"Oh, um okay, that's neat, I guess. Sounds really, different. Good though," she said quickly.

"Thank you ma'am."

"What is your name anyways?"

"This trooper is known as HS-0817-0012-5-2-1, ma'am." The cadet commisar looked at him oddly, actually giving him her full attention.

"Do you have a shorter name that I can call you by? You know, a regular name?"

"Of course ma'am."

"That's good, what is it?"

"HS-0817 or simply 0817 if you wish ma'am," said 0817 happy to be educating someone about the Death Korps.

"Sounds good," said the commissar after a moments hesitation. "My name's Walker, cadet commissar Walker," she said pulling down the brim of her hat with one finger in a theatrical way and laughed a little.

"It is good to meet you cadet commissar Walker, would you like this trooper to carry your bag for you ma'am?" She raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"No that's okay," said Walker. "Just how old are you anyways?" she asked finally trying to size 0817 up through his Korpsman mask and armour.

"This trooper is 16 standard years ma'am." The commissar actually stopped and looked at him for a moment, pity or sympathy, it was unclear which was showing. After a moments hesitation, she kept walking.

0817 felt a strange urge to please the commissar and be in her good graces. He walked by her side down the corridor lost in nostalgia for a while, from a different time.

"I don't mean to bother you, but why are there those gouges in you mask?"

"This troopers equipment was damaged in training ma'am."

"Must be some pretty hardcore training regimen huh?"

"Yes ma'am, 1/3 of this troopers company failed to meet expectations and subsequently failed."

"I didn't know that the Korps allowed guardsmen to fail or drop out," said Walker surprised. "How did they fail?"

"They were unable to complete training."

"Okay, but why were they unable to complete training?"

"They died ma'am. Thirty-eight were a result of the graduation mission, two were the result of plasma heavy weapons training, and one was killed by this trooper in unarmed combat." Walker's eyes widened in shock.

"You killed a guardsman in training?" she asked, disbelief straining her words.

"It was a training accident and this trooper was found to be free of any charges or guilt."

"How did it happen if it was an accident?"

"Krieg Korpsmen are not allowed to hold back in any way during training and this trooper broke his opponents jaw and caved in several ribs in his chest, puncturing the lungs and heart. Death was instantaneous."

"And you're 16?"

"Recently ma'am, this trooper did its training while it was 15 standard years." The look on the commissar's face worried 0817, she seemed disappointed at him or something he had done. He was worried that he had offended her or perhaps broken some protocol that he had forgotten. He never quite got his answer though, because they had just reached the Catachan billet. 0817 briefly considered leading Walker on an unnecessary loop to continue talking, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

"Well, thanks for taking me here. I'll be sure to write a favourable letter to your CO."

"That will be unnecessary ma'am, this trooper was privileged to help." 0817's chest swelled a little at the praise from the commissar. Praise was rare in the Korps, if ever given at all and it made 0817 feel good to get it.

"Yeah, well you should be going now, I've got to get back to business, you know how it is. Busy, busy, busy," said Walker flashing a quick smile, watching the rooms behind her, eyes darting around every once in a while at the different rooms.

"Are you sure ma'am? This trooper has nothing pressing to do and would be more than happy to help you with your tasks," said 0817 wanting to continue helping the commissar.

"No it's okay, it's commissar stuff anyways. Real important things too, so you have to get a move on. Come on, go, go , go," said Walker actually pushing 0817 out of the Catachan billet.

"Hey Amy, what the hell is this report about me gambling?" Walker hung her head and sighed.

"Damn," she muttered to herself before turning around. The Catachan guardsman was easily 0817's height, but with far more muscle, and an improper uniform complete with a red headband. He didn't seem to be too friendly of a person, but that was irrelevant. He was disrespecting a commissar and 0817 wanted to speak up, but he wouldn't belittle the commissars authority.

"Well, you were gambling on duty," said Walker. "And I have to give some repor-"

"Pfft, that's grox shit and you know it," interrupted the Catachan.

"I have to give reports about some things or else-" The Catachan had a sudden coughing fit.

"I have to give some reports or else," tried walker again only to be interrupted by the Catachan again who had another coughing fit.

"They'll get suspicious," said Walker hurrying to get the sentence out.

"Yeah, well now I don't get to go drinking in the hive _or _the canteen," complained the Catachan. "So the real question is how are you going to fix it?"

"I can't," said Walker. "The reports already in and I can't change it now." She shrugged her shoulders at the Catachan. "I guess that you're just going to have to live with it Braxon, there's nothing that I can do." The Catachan advanced quickly on her and loomed over her with his bulk.

"No I don't," said Braxon quietly, but angrily. "This isn't something that I have to live with. What you should be concerned about is if you'll be able to _live _with this decision." The colour drained from Walkers face, her authority as a commissar seemingly forgotten. 0817 couldn't understand why she was putting up with this kind of disrespect, or the threat. She could just execute him on the spot and be done with it.

"Well, um I guess I could write a report saying that you've demonstrated extreme discipline and volunteered for extra duties, or, something," said Walker trailing off with the Catachan towering well over a foot above her and at least twice as wide.

"You guess?" asked Braxon.

"I meant that that's what I'll do, I just need to write it out. I should be have it done for tomorrow."

"All right I guess I can give you a day, just make sure that it's done on time hmm?"

"It'll be done," said Walker looking down. Braxon knocked her hat off with a lazy swipe.

"Watch your step next time bitch," said Braxon. "And actually look at me when I talk to you huh? Little coward." 0817 felt an extremely intense wave of anger flood through him as Braxon put hands on cadet commissar Walker. He didn't know why the commissar was allowing this to happen, but he wouldn't. He had seen enough. He broke protocol by putting hands on a commissar, but he wasn't thinking about that at the time.

0817 grabbed Walker by the collar of her greatcoat and pulled her behind him protectively, almost possessively, drawing himself up to his full height and looking Braxon straight in the eye from behind tinted lenses, interposing himself between the commissar and the guardsman. 0817 practically radiated anger and dangerous intent.

"You disrespectful scum, you dare lay hands on the commissar after insulting her? You dare to even insult her? You aren't a guardsman, you aren't worthy of such a prestigious title. This trooper cannot fathom how you haven't been executed yet for your horrendous behaviour," spat 0817 vehemently. "You're a disgrace to the uniform." The Catachan raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Who's this aquilla scout? You're new pet hound? Daniels gonna be pissed that you traded him in Amy."

"Calling a commissar by their given name is a breach of article 22 and punishable by five lashes," said 0817. The standard discipline for disrespecting a commissar is five lashes in article 23, for insulting a commissar is a further five in article 24, and the price for striking a commissar is death. Under article 70, all of which are under commissariat protocol and procedure. " Braxon laughed in his face.

"Just what do you think little Amy back there is gonna do?" asked Braxon mockingly. "I'll tell you what she's gonna do, she's going to run back to Daniels, sit in his room, and read her romance novels saying how mean we were to here. She hasn't tried to be any kind of a commissar since Zoran. Ain't that right Amy? Whatever did happen to your old mentor by the way? I forget now, all I remember was that it was a pretty painful way to go." Cadet commissar Walker stayed quiet and 0817 couldn't understand why.

"A guardsman can enforce a commissar's will if they so ask," said 0817 tightening his hands into fists. A grin split Braxon's face and 0817 was surprised that it gave him a compulsion to wipe it off his face with a fist.

"You threatening me, wind up? I thought that you Korpsman were anal about everything that you did. Run out of asses to kiss?"

"This trooper does not threaten, but is more than capable of defending itself and detaining you with ease."

"Oh really? Well make a move because, 'this trooper,' thinks that you're all talk." Braxon held his arms out wide, inviting a blow and revealing his Catachan Fang, more short sword than knife. "Well? I'm waiting."

"This trooper will not initiate hostilities, or else it will be at fault for what happens to you," replied 0817 monotone, but wanting nothing more than to teach Braxon proper respect.

"What is this? Playground at the scholam? Well," said Braxon holding up a single extended finger. "I guess I'll make the first move gas sucker." He slowly and mockingly extended his finger until it brushed against the flak armoured chest of 0817. The second Braxons finger touched 0817's chest, a flak armoured fist connected with his jaw.

There was a clack of teeth and Braxon staggered back, rage colouring his face even as another fist became acquainted with it. Braxon bellowed in anger and threw a return punch that whistled over 0817's head like a heavy mover tram, but received a narrow cut down the length from the spike atop his helmet.

0817 sprang up from his crouch and drove fist into Braxons stomach, aiming for the solar plexus. It was like hitting solid rock, the Catachan was pure muscle. Braxon grunted from the hit, then brought his knee into 0817's face. 0817 staggered back head ringing, barely having enough time to block another strike.

"Stop this right now!" shouted cadet commissar Walker. 0817 dropped his hands and stance standing up straight assuming that Braxon would do the same. He didn't. A kick from the large man drove the air out of 0817's lungs and threw him against the wall.

A ham sized fist made 0817's head rebound off of the the wall with an audible clang and made his head swim. 0817 realized that he had been fighting like a regular guardsman and that if he wanted to win, he would have to fight how the late lord general had taught him. He would also have to disobey a commissar if he wanted to walk away from this in one piece. But he had stopped and he had still been struck, so technically he was only defending himself.

Braxon came in again and 0817 demonstrated his advanced training by taking him in the side of a head with a kick, rotated onto his other foot and then kicked his again while he was off balance. Braxon staggered back, blood dribbling down his face, murder in his eyes. He drew his fang.

"Throne dammit Braxon, I said stop!" shouted Walker again, this time angrily, her eyes blazing. She seemed to be a dog yapping against two fighting bears. Men were starting to emerge from the rooms down the hall, most all of them Braxons height and all had a red bandana on their heads.

0817 dodged the first slash of the blade by leaning back, and the second by sidestepping and hitting Braxon with a back fist strike. Rather than being stunned by the blow, he struck immediately and tore a long gash down 0817's arm. Blood burst forth and ran down his arm and onto the floor. The famed knife easily penetrating the light armour on his arm. Still reeling from the slash; his arm on fire, 0817 was unprepared for the knee that connected with his groin, turning his legs to rubber. Braxon slammed him against the wall and drove his blade into 0817's face.

0817 had managed to slow Braxons thrust with his free hand, and his mask managed to make sure that the blade didn't enter his skull. It still got at his face though. Through the pain, a red rage took over and 0817 kicked Braxon back, wanting to kill the man now. Braxon came again with the fang, but his old fighting techniques came back easy to 0817 now. He caught Braxon's knife arm in the crook of his arm and struck the elbow with his free hand.

The arm broke with a sharp crack and Braxon cried out in agony, even as 0817 kicked his knee forcing him to the ground and took away his fang. He raised the blade high, blood staining the end, fully intending on driving it into the mans neck. A las crack split the air and 0817 stopped mid strike.

Cadet commissar Walker since the first time 0817 met her looked every bit of her sash and hat. A smoking las pistol pointed towards the roof and an idling chainsword in her hand. She had her peaked commissariat hat on and her eyes just showed below the brim, radiating authority.

"I said, that was enough," she said slowly and lowly. She flicked her eyes over to 0817. "The knife, drop it." The Catachan fang hit the ground with a clatter. She turned and focused her attention on the assembled Catachans' filling the hallway. "I don't expect you to fear me, hell I don't expect you to like me, but you will listen to me when I have something to frekking say. I am a your commissar whether you like it or not and you may think that I don't belong with you and that I'm useless, but guess what? I'm not going anywhere so you had better get used to me. And you," she said turning to Braxon, cradling his broken arm. "If you ever threaten me again, I'll personally tie you to the post and have you lashed till I'm sure you're dead. Then have them give another 20 for good measure." She walked over to Braxon and crouched down, bringing herself level with him so that he was forced to look her in the eye.

"And if you ever, _ever_, bring up commissar Antolo again except in mourning, I'll take little Braxon away." Walker revved her chainsword and the mono-carbide teeth raced around the blade with a satisfying whirr. "Understand?"

"Yes," said Braxon weakly.

"Yes what?"

"Yes commissar," said Braxon.

"Good boy," said walker rising. She turned to 0817 and pointed at his with her chainsword. "And you."

"Me?" said 0817 fearful that he was going be reprimanded or punished.

"Yes you," said Walker. "You don't tell anyone about this, understand? I'll deal with it."

"Yes ma'am," said 0817 relieved. Walker looked at the 0817's wounds.

"Tell the medicae that you were hurt in knife training okay?"

"But isn't that lying ma'am?" asked 0817 confused.

"Are you questioning my judgement?" asked Walker, finger tapping on her las pistol. 0817 clicked his heel together and stood at ramrod attention.

"No ma'am. This trooper was hurt in mock knife combat. There is nothing else to the story."

"Good, now go get that looked at," said walker watching the blood dribble down 0817's arm onto the floor. "Dismissed." She watched his march away and away from the Catachan billet. "Someone get him patched up," said Walker referring to Braxon, resting her chainsword on her shoulder and walking into the crowd of Catachan, pistol swaying at her side. They actually parted for her too. For the first time in a long time, she felt like a real commissar. To hell with the Catachan fragging commissar's, she wasn't going to jump at the mere mention of their name anymore. "And someone get my book," said Walker without looking back. She had to get to her room soon though, or else she didn't think that she could keep herself from smiling much longer. Damn this felt good.

Walker entered her office that also doubled as her private quarters and hung her pistol and chainsword on the coat rack, along with her combat belt. She flipped on the light and started walking over to her desk to finish up the last couple of data slates that she had to go through. For once it was only a couple instead of a mountain. The Catachan colonel couldn't be bothered to do his own work, so it invariably found its way onto her desk.

A pair of large hands grabbed her from behind and a loud growl broke her contemplation. She yelped in fear and almost jumped out of her boots.

"Got you," said a deep voice behind her.

"Dammit Daniels that wasn't funny," chastised Walker, her heart still hammering. "I could have shot you."

"With your gun by the door and screaming in fear?" Walker tried to think up a witty response, but only one came to mind.

"Shut up, I could so have gotten you."

"I'm sure you could have Amy, so what was that deal with Braxon anyways?"

"It was amazing," said Amy excitedly. "At first he was being a huge ass to me like always, getting mad at me for writing him up for gambling on duty. And he called me a bitch," said Amy angrily. "And he made fun of my books too. I went through all the trouble to find them in paperback and he made fun of them."

"Okay, but back on track what happened."

"Oh, well I had this Death Korps kid who's like 16 and he got really mad at Braxon and got all in his face. He was all like you're disrespectful scum and Braxon was all like bring it, so the kid hit him in the face."

"Amy, Amy, calm down. You talk too fast when you're excited," said Daniels trying to calm her down. Amy exhaled heavily and breathed deeply.

"Okay, I'm calm. Anyways, they got into a fight and they were throwing each other all over the hallway. I yelled at them to stop and the kid does and puts down his hands. But then Braxon hits him, so they keep fighting and then the kid did some kind of martial arts kick. He got cut up pretty good though."

"He gonna make it?"

"Well he was able walk away so I think he was okay. I just hope that he doesn't give any specifics about what happened or else we could be in trouble. I haven't exactly been winning commissar of the year around here, you know? I do feel bad that he got cut up though, I should go check on him later."

"How bad did Braxon get him?"

"A slash on the arm and a stab in the face, but the kid broke Braxons arm. I had to stop the kid from killing him. You should have seen it, I was in control of it. Braxon was actually scared of me and for once, the other guys actually moved when I walked through them. There was no standing in my way, pushing me around, or any of that kind of stuff. I was a real commissar and it was awesome," finished Amy enthusiastically.

"So miss real commissar, what's your first order of business?"

"Well," said Amy looking over at her desk. "Paperwork."

"Anything else interesting happen to day?" asked Daniels.

"Well," said Amy thoughtfully. "I threatened to cut Braxon's dick off. What?" there was a look of utter horror on Daniels face that she had never seen before. "It's not like I would actually do it. Well, unless he really pissed me off of course."

"Remind me to never make you mad," said Daniels looking at the seemingly innocent chainsword hanging on the coat rack.

Despite being sick to his stomach, the trip to the infirmary went fine. 0817 had been worried, intensely apprehensive, that the medicae orderlies would question him as to how he had become so injured. His answer of a training accident had seemed pitifully weak and transparent. Nevertheless it had worked. The orderlies had taken it at face value and just assumed his nervous sweat and being more pale than usual was a symptom of his wounds. The pain was fierce, but nothing that 0817 couldn't handle, especially after the Korps training. You just had to focus your mind on something else and above all, have a strong will.

His arm had been stitched back together and was wrapped in gauze. He would have a lazy hooked shaped scar, but otherwise he would have full control of it once it healed properly. The wound to his face had required synth-skin to patch the hole on the inside of his cheek and some vat grown tissue to pack in the hole. The scar would be about three fingers wide and he was lucky that the blade hadn't damaged the inside of his mouth or teeth. His face might be a little mottled on the left side, but his real concern was that he had been delayed. The gauze wrap would not allow him to wear his mask which was okay because he wouldn't be going anywhere near the surface, but it left him a little nervous to be walking around without his mask on. It felt like a piece of him was missing and it left him on edge.

The lights were brighter now without his mask and he could smell the filtered but not filtered air. Stale, cold, and smelling of antiseptic and age. The only colours were varying shades of white, grey, and black, cast white or yellow light.

0817 shouldered his pack again, favouring his injured arm and once again began heading for the tram station. The air felt different without his mask and 0817 could actually feel the air flow against him. His face felt fat and numb from the freezing and his arm felt like a lead weight for the same reason.

0817 almost made it to the station, before a priority message broke the usual blue scrolling text with a flash of yellow. The 12th heavy siege regiment was being sent out immediately along with several other regiments to a war zone in need of reinforcement. All leave was cancelled.

The "Emperor's Emissary," was a bulk troop transport and heavy cargo hauler. It was an ageing ship, but in naval terms that usually meant that it was better. 0817 had been issued his rifle again, but as of yet his mask was still being repaired and the quartermaster had chastised him for damaging Korps equipment in training. By all means tear yourselves to pieces, but as soon as any equipment was damaged it was the end of the planet. It was a bit of a let down to know that the equipment was valued more than your life, but as long as you could serve the Emperor would know your true value.

Their packs were deposited in a rolling conveyor belt and to their displeasure, their weapons were taken by naval arms-men to be stored in the ships armoury until they reached their destination. A short briefing about ship protocol and that there were licensed mutants aboard in addition to the regular serfs who would be handling baggage. There were some protests of outrage from some other regimental officers and soldiers, but the Krieg guardsmen remained silent even though they felt the same anger as the other guardsmen. As long as it was approved, legal, and not explicitly against the Imperial Creed, Krieg would raise no objection about any regulation.

After the briefing by a dark skinned void born with violet eyes, the guardsmen were given their billets and listings. 0817 found that the deck had been filled and he would be one of the only Korpsmen on the deck below.

On his way to the lower levels, he passed the Catachan billet. He saw two naval arms-men carrying a bloody third between them and a Catachan rippling with muscle cleaning his fingernails with the tip of his blade and leaning against the bulkhead. From what 0817 had learned from his tutors, the Fang held an almost religious significance among the people of Catachan. From the looks of things, the arms-men had attempted to relieve them of their fangs. It didn't look like the Catachan had taken it that well.

In the lift, 0817 had his first look at the serfs aboard the Emperor's Emissary. They were of all different shapes and sizes and all of them were void born. Their clothes were cheap and roughly made, little more than long drab pieces of cloth thrown over them for decencies sake. They looked dirty and slightly malnourished and 0817 wished for his mask now more than ever. There were mutants on the elevator too.

They were grotesque things, some of indiscriminate gender others a mocking parody of one. They came in conceivable shape and combination or cross of limbs and amounts. Some resembled walking reptiles, others fish. Horns, hooves, claws, talons, webbed limbs, too many limbs; eyes, mouths, and ears where there shouldn't be. 0817 felt bile rise in the back of his throat and a strong desire to be free of this mutated menace. They smelled far worse than the serfs, but had the purple eyes of the void born serfs. The warp affected all living things indiscriminately, no matter of race, gender, species, or intelligence. It was the glue of the universe, the continuation and beginning of all things.

The words came unbidden to 0817's mind and he shook his head to clear it. It seemed that his secret tutors teachings were still quite prevalent in the scheme of things.

Despite the differences in appearance, the mutants and the serfs both huddled to one side of the elevator away from him. 0817 was sure that was a good example of dramatic irony. Or was it situational because he knew why? His old language arts tutor would have no doubt called him stupid for not knowing and then informed him of the answer. They were all carrying the bags of guardsmen and 0817 wondered whether or not a mutant had his bad. He really hoped that wasn't the case. A mutant with four arms and a single large eye was carrying four Imperial Guard rucksacks.

The lift door opened and 0817 was the first off and he hurried to find his quarters. 0817 was surprised at the diversity of the Imperial Navy crew as opposed to the Imperial Guard. While a regiment from a world was all from roughly the same gene stock, the navy seemed to draw from everywhere. Fair haired and tall crewmen worked beside squat and tanned muscular crewmen. A woman with almond shaped eyes and jet black hair directed a cart, while a dark skinned man pushed it. That was another thing too, the men worked and fought alongside the women. It was a far cry from Krieg where nearly everyone was identical once in their suits and it made him a little apprehensive, out of depth. He was missing his mask and especially would have liked it on the shuttle ride up. 0817 was sure that his complexion had been a little more green than normal and his mask could have hidden that. He didn't know how anyone could enjoy flying, it was terrible. At least there had been no windows inside the shuttle.

Walking down the hallway, he saw a serf struggling with a Korps rucksack. It was his. Worrying that a mutant might come along and attempt to carry it to his room for him, 0817 hurried over to the elderly serf woman.

When he was close enough, 0817 cleared his throat trying to get her attention. A small, young woman with white hair and the features of a void born whirled around to face him. She was cleaner than some of the other serfs and wore either a neck warmer or scarf, 0817 wasn't sure. She looked fearful of him. She actually almost looked like a Krieger, probably never have stepped off the ship and 0817 felt an instant kinship towards her. A rock of familiarity in a landslide of change.

"My bag," said 0817 extending arm outwards intending to carry it himself.

"I-I'm taking it to your room sir, just give me a little more time please." She looked underfed and had the furtive, timid look of the other serfs 0817 had seen. They all seemed to have trouble meeting his gaze. Then again it could be that they had to look up, or maybe his, condition.

"You're having trouble with it," said 0817 plainly in his normal tone of voice, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. If at all possible it caused the woman to become more fearful of him and actually cower before him. She had some fading bruises in the exposed pieces of skin that he could see and she was far too skinny to be healthy. Not quite a walking twig, but definitely underweight.

"Sorry, j-just give me another chance, I can do this," pleaded the serf. 0817 actually felt kind of bad the whole situation and didn't really know how to explain it without either coming off as even more intimidating or pretentious. 0817's cheek began to itch again as it had since the freezing had started wearing off some hours ago and he reached up to scratch it.

"Don't hit me," said the serf shrilly, throwing up her arms for defence. The flashback was so real and intense, that it actually felt like a physical jolt. 0817 stood stunned for a moment and had to blink before he came fully back.

"That was never my-this troopers intention. All this trooper wanted to do was carry its bag to help you." The woman had seemed on the verge of tears before and now seemed to be looking at him in surprise.

"You want to help me? But, why?"

"You need help," said 0817 picking up his bag with one arm and shouldering it. "For this trooper, that is all the reason needed."

"You," began the serf as if not knowing how to continue. "You don't care about any of this," she said gesturing upwards at herself disbelievingly.

"You are a servant of the Emperor are you not?"

"Well, yes, I worship the Emperor with all my soul and I like to think he cares about me as much as anyone else."

"Than this trooper see no problem with anything." A wary look came upon her face, but she still had trouble looking directly at him.

"You're not making fun of me are you? You're not, well you know, just trying to mock me or anything?"

"Why would this trooper do that?" asked 0817 perplexed.

"Well, most people wouldn't look twice at me because of what I am. And if they did it would probably be to throw things at me or spit at me."

"That's simply unacceptable," said 0817 outraged. "The Imperium is built on the backs of its devoted servants. To ridicule you or anyone like you is an intolerable injustice. It doesn't matter who someone is or what they are as long as they are law abiding and devoted servants of the Emperor."

"You, you really believe that?"

"Of course," said 0817 surprised. After all, as long as someone wasn't a heretic, mutant, psyker, xeno, or Emperor forbid a combination of them, there was no reason to despise them.

"I'm Gina," she burst out suddenly, the timid air still around her though. It reminded 0817 of Elisha and how she had been picked on by the other servants and he took an immediate liking to the void born serf.

"0817."

"What?"

"0817 is my designation."

"Isn't it a little strange calling yourself a bunch of numbers?"

"No," said 0817 simply.

"Well, I've got to go, more bags to carry you know," she said rubbing at her scarf.

"If you wait until this trooper drops off its bag, it will help you with your task," said 0817 wanting to make up for frightening the poor girl.

"Well, okay," said Gina falling in step beside him. 0817 got some strange looks from the regular crew and serfs, but especially the grotesque mutants walking past. He glared at them and they looked away quickly. He noticed that Gina didn't have any shoes and her feet made a soft pitter patter on the deck, while his boots made a pronounced clomp with every step.

At an intersection, 0817 looked at his billet information and Gina took a quick look at the number and began leading him through the crowd with an astonishing speed, partly due to the fact a 6'6" Krieger dressed in full combat uniform was directly on her heels, who also gave off an aura of light malice, or so he had been told.

They soon made it to a less travelled corridor with not nearly as many people coming to and fro. A result of them entering the living quarters area. The only real difference in the living area was that the doors were smaller and there were more of them closer together. The colour scheme was pretty much the same as the rest of the ship and the only way to know that it was a living area at all was by the numbers above the doors and a small sign at an intersection. Even on Krieg, they used different colours to show the difference, even if it was a variation of hazard colours or warning symbols.

A reptilian mutant with green scales and elongated snout saw Gina and swiftly made its way over despite the glare 0817 gave it. Its eyes were deep set and purple, surrounded by bony ridges. Its scales were hexagonal shapes that look discoloured in some places and a lizard like tail sprouted out behind it. It was made more grotesque by the fact it had a single malformed human leg below the knee that it hobbled along on, while its more reptilian one seemed to be whole and healthy. If a mutant could ever be called healthy and not an abomination.

"Hey sweet gene, how's it goin?" asked the mutant to Gina. 0817 felt the urge to bat the mutant away, but Gina seemed to know it so he let it remain. For the moment. Even still, it was revolting being so close to a mutant and it made his skin crawl.

"It's going twisted grubb, s'what you be needing?" replied Gina immediately and easily, switching to the mutant's slang without difficulty. 0817 was surprised, but if you lived around mutants long enough, you would probably pick up on some of the speech, as horrid as it was.

"Just come round to collect on s'those extra yum cards."

"I don't have the good eagle right now, so I's wondering if I can get some more ticks to get it together?"

"Sorry sweet gene, but Grubb needs to get s'his grub too, ya know? I be needin the good eagle now. You ate them yum cards and now you gotta give back."

"I can't do that Grubb, you know I ain't got the eagle you need," said Gina with all the will of an addict gambler asking for an extension on the pay deadline.

"No roll sweet gene, but suppose you could get the good eagle by workin. You look near straight edge and them stompers do get s'lonely on dees star trips." From the look on Gina's face, 0817 could tell that what the thing had said offended Gina, especially if the cross look on her face was anything to go by.

"You be knowin that I don't be workin like that. I work with s'these hands doing shiny work, not riding them stomps for eagle. This twist has got good feel for itself," said Gina forcefully. Why she was talking like the mutant was beyond 0817 though, or why it was even worth her time.

"Now don't be s'actin all straight edge now sweet gene. You needs to pay the good eagle and you've got the strand for it," said the reptilian creature as it ran a hand over her chest. An angry retort was halfway out of Gina's mouth before 0817 acted.

He had been tolerating the mutant long enough, but when it laid its filthy claws on Gina, his irritation and loathing turned to anger and hate.

0817's hand shot out and grabbed the mutant around the throat and brought it around, slamming it against the bulkhead. Its feel dangled several inches off of the ground.

"S'what this about? You gots a taste for twist stomp?" asked the reptilian mutant before 0817 tightened his hand around its throat, cutting off its air supply. It choked and kicked its legs in the air.

"Listen here, you repulsive creature," began 0817 low and menacing. "If you ever lay hands on Gina again I will make you regret the day that your miserable existence began." 0817 tightened his grip so that only strangled gasps of air escaped the mutant as it clawed futilely at his arm. "If this trooper so much as suspects that you have even thought about doing sexual things to her it will remove any instrument that you might do so with. It that clear?" 0817 got a strangled garble as a reply, the mutants nostrils flaring and eyes bulging.

"Stop it, you're killing him!" cried Gina desperately. 0817 fixed her with a stare from his grey eyes and she took a half step back from him. Realizing his violence, 0817 released the mutant and it fell to the ground choking.

"What be your crink stomp? You want to plow twist meat, that's none o mine concern. Jus that this sweet gene owes me for dem yum cards," said the reptilian mutant wheezing.

"Are you okay Grubb? I'm really sorry about all of this, I didn't know that this guy was like that. I can get you your money by next week if you need it, I'm sorry that it's late, but I can't do that kind of work. I just can't," said Gina swooning over the creature. The reptilian mutant shook her off and stood.

"Why's you be flappin like sum stomp?" demanded the mutant, yellowing teeth showing in its animal-like mouth. "You be thinkin that you too good for us twists? That s'because you look straight edge you is? You ain't no twist o mine and you ain't ever gonna be good enough to be a straight edge. Jus make sure I's get them yum cards you be s'owing me." The mutant walked away, throwing hateful looks at 0817 as it left and he gave them right back.

"Your room's this way," said Gina quietly. She led 0817 through the halls to his room. It was a cramped room, with just enough room for a metal framed cot and a small footlocker at the end of the bed. Amazingly, there was a cheap fabricated metal desk next to the cot that he could write at if he sat on the bed. 0817 set his pack down, looking for his ration bars, having been forced to miss supper with the unexpected mobilization.

"I'll be going now, you don't have to help me with the bags," said Gina turning to go. A growling stomach distracted 0817 and he turned to see a trace of either embarrassment or shame of Gina's face.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine," said Gina defensively. 0817 tossed her a ration bar that she caught on reflex. She stared at it like it was gold, but turned on him angrily. "I don't need your pity and I don't need your charity. I don't need you throwing food to me like an animal at a zoo. I'm not an animal and I'm not worth less than you so you can shove your goodwill up your ass!" the last part seemed to catch even Gina off guard and her face changed as if she feared that she had said something that would earn her a lash from the naval disciplinary officer.

"This trooper didn't mean to offend, it thought that it was sharing with a friend. If it is mistaken and you are not hungry then by all means give it back. If not, this trooper will be more than happy to share in the future." Gina looked at the ration bar and then at 0817.

"I'm not taking this out of charity," said Gina slowly. "I'm taking this because it's a gift from a friend. I don't want you thinking that you're helping a poor twist to make yourself feel superior, okay?"

"This trooper understands," said 0817. That seemed to be all Gina needed to hear before she ripped open the ration bar and ate it so fast 0817 wasn't even sure that it had been there in the first place. She ate it with her hands shielding it from the outside and close to her face as if afraid that someone would take it from her.

"I'll see you later," said Gina wiping crumbs from her face. "I've still got some work to do today, want to meet for lunch tomorrow? Not that I'm trying to get more food or anything," she added quickly.

"That sounds agreeable, where would you like to meet?"

"Um, I'll find you at noon ship time tomorrow. Well, see you later," said Gina walking away quickly.

0817 spent the ten minutes packing his things away properly and making his bed to Korps standard. He found that when he turned the electro light on overhead by its pull string it hurt his eyes. He had thrown up his arm and shielded his eyes from the light that most people would have called dim. Living in a low light environment for generations the People of Krieg had developed superior low light vision, but as a draw back even moderately bright lights hurt their eyes if viewed unshielded. Hence the tinted eyepieces on their mask. For the next minute 0817 blinked the spots out of his eyes as he sorted through the rest of his bag. At the very bottom of his bag he found something odd.

It was a dull metal box with the Von Shreider family crest on the lid. It was odd, because it hadn't been there when he had packed his kit prior to leaving Krieg, or the main complex. There was a gene scanner on the side and curious, 0817 put the box on the desk and pushed his thumb to the scanner. After the blue light travelled across his exposed thumb, 0817 put his glove back on and opened up the box. The box was actually a miniature cogitator and the bottom of the lid was a screen. The front pulled out into a keyboard and the runes were made of burnished metal and appeared brand new. The screen blinked into life and after a moment, changed from a black screen with rolling white text to a feed of his mother. Or at least a recording.

"Hello Erich, I hope that you are doing well," said the recording. It was Erich's mother sitting in a high backed chair in a hardwood floored room with two of her handmaidens standing behind her, hands clasped. "I am sorry that you were unable to come home for the brief time you are allowed, but as you know far too well by now the Korps cares for nothing but its schedules. I watched the parade from the viewing box and I must say that it was most impressive. I know that you are an adult now and part of the Korps as well, but I would ask you not to neglect your studies. I have enclosed many different lessons for you to do in this cogitator and I hope that you find the time to do them in between your training. A strong mind compliments a strong body, so I hope that you do not neglect intellectual pursuits in this venture of yours. I would also ask that your private tutelage be expanded upon at a time that you are able." She seemed uncomfortable for a moment before continuing.

"If at any time you find that life in the Korps is more than you can bare or perhaps you tire of it you are more than welcome to return to our estate. I know that you have made your decision and I respect that, but I just wish for your options to be clear to you. You're still very young and I just hope that you made the decision to join out of a pure desire to serve and not for revenge alone. Revenge will only sustain you for so long. Regardless of my feelings about the matter, you have a duty to uphold. Von Shreider's have always served with distinction within the Korps and I expect no different from you. You must uphold our family name no matter where you go. Like we have taught you Erich, money flows like water and is as easy to get as dirt for those who know how. It is the reputation and prestige that is hardest to maintain. It can take generations to build up a respectable name for yourself and only a single errant act to destroy it all. I know that this is asking a lot of you, but I would ask that you do more than just survive in the Korps. I would ask that you regain the standing we lost when your father died. And, do be safe son. On a side not I have enclosed a credit chip with a modest some of money on it. If you find that you require more, you must only visit one of our establishments and ask."

The video feed cut to a picture of the Von Shreider crest and 0817 touched the brand on his right arm subconsciously. On one hand he had his duty to the Korps and the Imperium at large. On the other he had a loyalty to his family name and those whom had cared for him. At the moment both goals were similar if not the same. He hoped that they wouldn't one day differentiate enough that it required him to make a choice between the two.

0817 finished unpacking and laid down to sleep, not even feeling the transition into the warp that usually caused even the most hardened of ship crewman to feel a moment of nausea. Sometimes there was a benefit to being an untouchable. This time in the form of uninterrupted sleep.

The time aboard the Emperor's Emissary for the most part was uneventful, especially during the first few weeks of the voyage. The only real problem was the trouble sleeping that most everyone had while travelling so close to the warp, protected by the teardrop shape that was their gellar field which kept the daemons and creatures at bay. This problem was countered by the ships medicae issuing sleeping pills to the guard regiments on board the six kilometre long ship. The naval personnel were used to travelling in the warp and poked fun at the guard, saying that they needed their beauty sleep because they sure as hell weren't getting any prettier. There were some fights between the naval crewmen and the guard regiments, Catachan leading by a clear margin. There was a fight recorded between a Krieg Korpsman and the naval crew, but it was a single isolated incident and written off to jitters at travelling the warp for the first time.

"So Numbers, what made you decide to become a stomp in the first place?" asked Gina taking another bite of the high calorie ration bars that 0817 kept supplying her with. She didn't eat them like a starving animal anymore, actually eating them like a regular human being now. She had started putting on more weight during the voyage and didn't resemble a walking twig so much anymore. They were sitting on a metal ledge overlooking one of the hangars in the ship and watching routine maintenance being done on some of the shuttle craft.

"Well, this trooper joined to serve the Emperor and his holy Imperium and to defend it from any and all threats," answered 0817 slipping a ration bar under his newly returned mask.

"So you weren't conscripted?" asked Gina looking at him with a set of pale purple eyes questioningly.

"No, this trooper volunteered."

"Come on Numbers, you can tell me if you were. Lots of guardsmen are conscripted into the guard. It's not shameful to be conscripted."

"This trooper is being completely honest, it volunteered for the guard."

"Right, so you're telling me you signed up to go and fight giant space monsters with a flashlight?" said Gina leaning in close to his mask.

"No, with a lasgun," answered 0817 perfectly serious. Gina burst out laughing and doubled over.

"You crack me up Numbers," said Gina wiping tears out of her eyes.

"Do you require a medicae?" Gina let loose another belt of laughter.

"You know, despite you being the most serious person I've ever met, you're not half bad to hang around with," said Gina when she had calmed down. "Though I am curious as to why you spend time with me. Most people avoid twists like they're the plague."

"Well you don't seem to carry any diseases and this trooper has nothing better to do after training."

"Are you saying that you only hang out with me because you have nothing better to do?" asked Gina a cross look on her face.

"Well, yes. This trooper does its required training and studying, then it has to make up for all of its free time. It sees spending time with you an agreeable solution." Anger flashed across Gina's face and she stood up sharply.

"So that's all this has been to you? Just passing the time in your day? Just hang out with the twist because you have nothing better to do?"

"This trooper supposes that you could look at it like that."

"You're unbelievable Numbers," continued Gina angrily huffing.

"No, it's actually very believable, quite logical in fact." Gina looked at 0817 sharply and let out a hmpf of annoyance.

"Well I guess that you're going to have to find something else to do to pass the time Numbers." She walked away stiffly leaving a very confused Korpsman sitting on a ledge.

Gina walked down the halls of the ship angrily, and thrust her hands into the self-made pockets of her threadbare clothes. Served her right for trying to be friendly to a stomp, they were all users one way or another. She felt the coins in her pocket that equalled the half-crown that she owed to Grubb and took them out to look at them. It was the most money that she had ever had at one time and the only reason that she had been able to get it was that she had been able to start selling her food ration cards and doing extra errands for ship crewmen.

It was cheaper to hire a twist than a serf to do errands and her mutation was hidden by the rough grey fabric that covered her neck. Gina found that she was tolerated more by people if her mutation was out of sight and out of mind. She was lucky in a way, instead of having an extra limb or head she had gotten just a little mutation. It was enough to be labelled a mutant though and not have the rights of an Imperial citizen. Gina had gills.

Six to be precise, three on each side of her neck that stacked up on top of each other. They worked too, which was the deciding factor in her being labelled a mutant. If they had been defunct, they could have been removed by a well trained medicae, but since they did work it meant that there were other bits inside of her that helped it work. So she was labelled a twist and sold for twenty crowns. A fortune for most twist labour. That was one thing that she learned early on being a mutant, you didn't call yourself one. It was 'twist' because your DNA was twisted wrong. Mutant was a dirty word and something that you didn't say. You weren't mutated, you were twisted. There was a difference. If you were feral and ate other twists or people then yes, you were a mutant. If however you had your mind about you then you were a twist.

Gina saw three of the crews arms-men ahead walking down the hall and kept her head down. It wasn't uncommon for a twist to be beat just because and the arms-men either allowed it to happen or more often than joined in on the fun. If she stayed to the far side and kept her head down, she could pass for an indentured servant. She had done it before it had worked well enough. So long as she didn't draw attention to herself.

When she was walking past them, whether through nerves or having forgotten to hold on tightly enough, a coin came free from her grasp and pinged off the deck and rolled. It was a quarter crown piece and the largest one out of the bunch. She had gotten it for shining the duty warrants boots every evening for a week. It was a heavily vied after job and she had been lucky to get it for as long as she had. She only had two arms though and Wiggs had four. He did it in half the time for less.

Gina went after the rolling coin and stooped to pick it up when a navy issue boot slammed down on top of it. Gina looked up into the grinning face of Wilkins, one of the arms-men most known among the twists as being particularly sadistic towards them. He also knew that Gina was a twist.

"Hello sir," said Gina meekly.

"Well by the throne, mutants can talk. I guess that you can teach animals parlour tricks huh?" said Wilkins, making a big show of it.

"Yes sir," said Gina hoping to take the little bit of degrading and just be on her way. This was everyday life and if you wanted to keep living it, you kept your head down.

"So why are you standing here mutie? Don't you have work to be doing or heresies to be committing? You know, like living?" The other two arms-men laughed at this and it caused colour to rise in Gina's face. "What's the matter there mutie, body falling apart cause the sludge you sleep in finally wearing off?"

"No sir, I was just wondering if you could let me get my money from under your boot."

"Oh, This?" said Wilkins removing his boot and holding up the coin.

"Yes sir."

"A whole quarter crown piece," said Wilkins holding it up to the light. "Now how did you ever manage to get something like this hmm? Mutants don't get this kind of money unless they're up to something illegal. Are you up to something illegal mutant?"

"No sir, I got it for polishing warrant Zhu's boots." Wilkins leaned in close to her face and scrutinized her as if trying to decipher if she was lying or not.

"Sure you didn't do a little whoring for it mutie? Your pal Grubb set you up? Riding s'them stomps for good eagle?" asked Wilkins mocking the twist way of speaking. Gina felt her anger boil over at not just being called a whore, but also for Wilkins mocking her and other twists.

"Frak you, I worked for this money you bullying bastard!" Gina would never admit it, but she had a temper and it had gotten her in trouble before. Being a twist didn't help as people were far less likely to forgive a twist as they were someone who was normal. With the dark, angry look on Wilkins face, she knew that she had done it again. An apology was halfway out, when a backhand sent her to the ground. She felt dizzy and tasted copper in her mouth as she stared at the ceiling. She felt her hand pried open and her coins removed. Gina saw Wilkins standing over her and jingling the coins in his hand. When he was sure that Gina was looking at him, he threw them into a heating vent. They clanged as they fell down the ventilation tubes. Two months of scrimping and saving, gone. Just like that.

Gina was getting to her feet when Wilkins put his hands around her throat and started choking her against the bulkhead. Panic set in and Gina tried vainly to get free, but Wilkins had murder in his eyes and didn't loosen his grip even when Gina's face began to match her eyes. Fearing for her life, Gina bit Wilkins on the arm as hard as she could. With a cry of pain, Wilkins drew back clutching at his arm and Gina drew in glorious amounts of air.

"The mutant bitch bit me!" cried out Wilkins outraged. "Look at that, that's blood! She's trying to infect me with something I just know it. Who knows what kind of diseases she's carrying. By the throne, I might lose my arm because of this. Stand her up, stand her up now! I'm going to teach her a lesson," said Wilkins seething.

The two other arms-men picked Gina up under the armpits and held her against the bulkhead. Wilkins pulled a close fighting knife and advanced on Gina, nursing his hurt arm. He grabbed the fabric surrounding her neck and cut it off, exposing her mutation. The gills opened and closed with the contact with the air on reflex.

"What, trying to be normal by hiding the fact that you're a mutant? Think that people wouldn't notice that you're a freak? Well I think that I'm going to help you with that," said Wilkins pulling out a lighter and with a flick, produced a high blue flame. He held it under the blade of the knife, turning it a bright cherry red. He held it up and put it close enough to Gina's eyes to make them water. The heat radiated from the blade and it filled her entire vision. "I think that I might just close up those gills for you, make you normal. Would you like that? Want me to make you normal?"

"No," said Gina piteously, her voice cracking.

"Well don't knock it till you try it mutie," said Wilkins as he drew the knife back. Gina closed her eyes as he thrust the knife forwards. She felt, nothing. No pain, no burning at all. Gina opened her eyes and saw a very large flak armoured fist holding Wilkins arm at bay.

Wilkins had just enough time to look surprised before the fists partner connected with his face, laying him flat out with a small spatter of blood. The two arms-men dropped Gina and attacked Numbers. Gina hit the deck and looked up in time to see the Korpsman deflect the arms-men's punch and deliver his own, then sidestep the others attack and strike the side of his knee for a wet cracking noise that made her flinch. The arms-men fell to the ground clutching at his leg and screaming, just as his partner drew his auto pistol.

Numbers batted the auto pistol up and it discharged into the ceiling, spraying high velocity, low penetration soft slugs into the ceiling. Numbers grabbed the auto pistol and twisted it out of the arms-men's grasp before pistol whipping him in the side of his jaw for a sharp crack. Gina was sure she saw the side of the arms-men's face cave in. He fell like a box of ingots.

A click was clearly heard over the melee and Gina looked over to see Wilkins, his nose flattened and bleeding, was holding an auto pistol aimed at Numbers. Numbers fired a burst from his auto pistol first, taking Wilkins auto pistol away and most of his hand. Wilkins pistol fired after being hit and put three rounds in the calf of Number's right leg. Numbers fell like a sheared support beam, while Wilkins clutched at his mangled hand and screamed.

Gina ran over to the felled Korpsman and helped him to his feet. Blood oozed from the wound in his leg and turned the fatigues on his leg a darker shade of black, even as it ran down his leg and boot onto the floor in bright streams of red. He leaned heavily on her and seemed to be breathing very heavy and laboured. She was surprised that he wasn't screaming in pain.

"Oh Emperor are you okay Numbers? I'm so sorry that this happened. Let's get you to the medicae right away, they'll fix you up. Oh throne, that's a lot of blood, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It was...not your fault...Gina. You were...attacked and this...trooper...defended you. There...is no...blame on...your side." His speech was strained and forced, spoken very deliberately as if he focused any less, it wouldn't be speech at all, but grunts.

"Come on, you need help," said Gina leading him away from the wounded arms-men. 0817 looked down to thank Gina, but noticed the slits in her neck. At first he was worried that he had been too late and the arms-men had done something to her, but then they flexed. Gills. Gina was a mutant. 0817 pulled away roughly from her and staggered off to the side of the corridor and leaned against the bulkhead, chest heaving with effort and restrained pain.

"What are you doing?" demanded Gina. "I need to get you to the infirmary right away. Come on Number's this isn't funny," said Gina tugging on his arm. "If I don't get you help, you might even die, those bullets break apart when they hit you." He pushed her away much Gina's surprise and spoke with loathing and condescension.

"Get...away from...me...mutant," forced out 0817 through his pain. Gina looked like she had been physically struck and the hurt was evident on her face.

"What are you saying Numbers? Why are you saying that? You knew. You knew what I was. You said it was okay." Gina sounded desperate, frantic almost in her words.

"I assumed you...to be a...serf. Not...an...abomination." 0817 brought himself up to his full height, heedless of the pain that it caused his leg.

"How could you, I, I," Gina's face contorted and she began weeping openly. She ran off down a side corridor and 0817 shuffle hopped down the hallway after putting a field dressing on his leg. He felt pain of course, the pain was very prevalent on his mind right now. He also felt a conflicting array of emotions inside himself, shame, embarrassment, anger, and a sick feeling like metal claws were extending throughout his body.

0817 was intercepted by a squad of arms-men wearing battle armour and carrying shotguns with flechette rounds. 0817 put his auto pistol on the floor without a fuss and did it very slowly and deliberately. He didn't resist as they put him in plassteel cuffs or irons on his legs. They took him into custody and to the infirmary under guard.

Commissar Osei was sitting in colonel Stanton's room, sharing a drink with him. It was only midday, but the colonel had offered and it was only a glass of wine. He normally would have refused, but he was just getting so bored and he couldn't hold a conversation with any of the Korpsmen besides simple answers or a yes or no. At least the colonel provided company that talked back. He was just so bored most of the time that being with Stanton at least passed the time. There was a sudden knocking on the door and colonel Stanton pushed the a rune on the wall, opening the door. A naval arms-man with a shotgun slung on his shoulder and combat armour stuck his head in the door.

"I'm sorry to disturb you sir's, but I need commissar Osei to come to the infirmary right away. He looked young and of low rank, as well as very uncomfortable talking to a high ranked officer and commissar.

"Has another of our Korpsmen been injured in training?" asked Osei wearily, tired of signing the release forms.

"No commissar, the guardsman in the infirmary assaulted three arms-men and one is in critical condition." Osei looked up energized, the shock revitalizing him.

"You're sure now? 12th heavy siege regiment? One of mine?"

"Um, yes commissar, he said that he was from the 12th." Osei rose quickly, donning his greatcoat and hat, eager to finally have something to do.

"Lead the way arms-men," said Osei trying to contain his enthusiasm. It really was bad getting this excited over one of his Korpsmen getting into trouble, but it was finally something for him to do. He had been getting far too bored just sitting around as of late.

He found the Korpsman with his leg bandaged and in a cast, on an infirmary bed under heavy guard from the arms-men in the room. He was a very large man, the bed having had to be extended so that his injured leg didn't dangle over the edge and he was wearing a hospital gown and bereft of his mask, or even uniform. He was unnaturally pale like the crew of the 'Emperor's Emissary' and had a new pink scar on his face and one that curled around his left forearm. He didn't seem to be in an inordinate amount of pain, but he looked much more uncomfortable since he had walked in. That was good, if a guardsman feared or respected you it made your job much easier. As long as that fear didn't turn to hate. Fear you could use, but hate. Hate was a raging fire that could, if properly handled be directed outwards at the enemy, but all too often that fire burst free and consumed you. You didn't want hate.

Osei walked up to the bedside, walking very deliberately and looking very displeased. The young Korpsman didn't look away when Osei looked into his eyes, but he was clearly nervous, already he could see a light sheen of sweat beading his forehead. He gave off a bad feeling that Osei recognized from having dealt with troublemakers before. The aura of danger and hostility, though it was strange to find it in one so young but not unheard of.

"Can you explain to me why you ended up in the infirmary Korpsman?" asked Osei casually, but with an edge just below the surface.

"This trooper got into an altercation involving three of the 'Emperor's Emissaries' arms-men sir," responded the Korpsman immediately. He had a very proper way of speaking and a well controlled voice, that still sounded arrogant to Osei.

"That will be commissar Korpsman, or have you forgotten proper procedure?" A twitch seemed to across the Korpsman's face and Osei saw his flex his hand nervously.

"Forgive me commissar, this trooper understands procedure and regrets making an error in speech." maybe he was a troublemaker, maybe not, but like any Korpsman he seemed to have the utmost respect for the sash and hat.

"What is your designation trooper?" asked Osei walking around to the other side of the bed, forcing the Korpsman to follow him with his eyes.

"This trooper is known as HS-0817-0012-5-2-1 commissar."

"Are you aware that you are the first Korpsman from the 12th heavy siege regiment to commit an offence and receive a reprimand?" asked Osei looking disapprovingly at the Korpsman. For the first time since they had started speaking, the young soldier couldn't meet his eyes and looked away in shame.

"This trooper was not aware that it was the first to break regulation and bring shame upon its regiment commissar. It is discouraged to learn this and will accept summary execution at any time that you feel it prudent to exercise the right. This trooper just regrets not being able to have been of more use to you commissar, it is sorry for its failure in its duty."

Osei actually had to stop for a moment and stare at the Korpsman in front of him. Had a 16 year old guardsman just asked him to shoot him to remove the stain on the regiments honour that he had caused? Was he willing to die just like that? Surely there would be a reprimand, he had attacked several members of the ships crew, but asking for death?

"Before I make my decision I must first ask why did you attack the naval arms-men?" The trooper was quiet for a long moment, so long that Osei was wondering if he hadn't heard him or was just refusing to answer. He finally spoke just as Osei was going to demand an answer.

"This trooper attacked the naval arms-men because they were assaulting a female member of the crew with a heated knife. This trooper acted without thinking and simply reacted to the situation. It made a mistake commissar. It acted based on emotion which is inexcusable. "

"It says here that you knew the crew member. Is that true trooper?" The young Korpsman didn't look at him when he answered, simply kept staring straight ahead.

"Yes commissar, this trooper knew the involved crew member and that is why it interceded."

"So you were defending a friend from danger Korpsman? Was she your friend?" The Korpsman seemed to hesitate before he answered, almost as if ashamed.

"At the time this trooper believed itself to be defending a friend commissar. After it became involved in the situation, it became aware of new details."

"Korpsman it is understandable that you wanted to protect your friend from being maimed, but there are consequences." Osei was actually kind of surprised at this case, usually Korps soldiers didn't have friends of any kind.

"She was a mutant commissar," said the Korpsman sharply, turning to face Osei. "This trooper injured Imperial citizens protecting a mutant. It only learned of this fact after the altercation commissar."

Osei didn't really know how to respond to that. He had thought that the young Korpsman had just found a girlfriend on the ship and had gotten into a fight over her. That was what the report had led him to believe and it had made everything make much more sense.

The Korpsman had become friends with a human looking mutant believing her to a serf or some other labourer aboard the "Emperor's Emissary," possible developing one of those scholam crushes or "ship" relationship's that develop in all guard regiments in transit. Obviously the Korpsman had valued her life enough to assault three armed men and not only beat them, but beat them badly enough to break bones and actually maim one of them. His fighting skill was impressive, but Osei had seen his type before, knew the feeling he got around one of them.

This boy, man, whatever legal legislation said him to be was an attack dog. He was one of those violent individuals who would get into a fight over any excuse and didn't care about those that he hurt. The one thing going for this recruit though was that he had collared himself. He was an Imperial attack dog, on the leash and under control. He was the docile killer, he could behave himself, be civil and be a damn fine guardsman, some of the best in fact. He would stand back and listen to his superiors like their word was the will of the Emperor himself. They would remain out of trouble and do anything that was required, any of the dirty or particularly dangerous jobs and once let off the least, you just had to watch.

Like the dog masters of Dumajin and their hunting dogs. As long as the dogs were well looked after, cared for, and trained they would never turn on their masters. It was when the dogs were left alone that they began to get into trouble. When there is no one around to offer guidance or tell them what to do, they begin to act however they feel and what will meet their needs. Trooper 0817 had shown up for all required training periods, but Stanton didn't allow them to train seven days a week all day like the Korps wanted to. He allowed five days full, one half day, and standing orders for rest on the seventh day. This left free time and in any regiment free time led to boredom and boredom led to situations like this.

It was his fault really, he had just begun to assure himself that nothing could possibly happen in a Krieg regiment, because nothing ever did. Osei did feel a bit of guilt though, he actually liked the fact that 0817 had done something wrong, because frankly, it gave him something to do. He knew that it was wrong to want things to go wrong, but dammit he was a commissar not a house sitter. He needed trouble to settle, even an argument from time to time would suffice. Still, the report from cadet commissar Walker about knife training seemed a little fishy, but it was bad business to start questioning other commissars.

"A summary execution would be too easy a way out," said Osei forcing the Korpsman to retain eye contact. "You have broken protocol, but because of the extenuating circumstances and the fact that this is your first offence, some leniency will be given to you. Do you raise any objections trooper?"

"Yes." for the second time since meeting the trooper, Osei was surprised. Was a Korpsman questioning authority?

"This trooper believes that no leniency should be given, discipline must be upheld at all costs even if it means the death of a Korpsman."

"Are you saying that you want to die Korpsman?" asked Osei very quietly. "That you would rather die over a disciplinary matter than fight the enemies of the Emperor?"

"No commissar, but-"

"Are you afraid trooper, afraid of what you might face in the galaxy? Worried about what you might find?"

"This trooper simply wishes that-"

"Are you a coward?" said Osei almost too quietly to be heard. "Are you afraid to serve?" The response was as instant as it was surprising.

"I am not a coward!" shouted the Korpsman, practically in his face. "I will fight, and I will die, but I will not run! I am a chip of the Emperor's hammer and I with crush any creature that opposes his will, or so help me I will die in the attempt!" There was real anger in 0817's eyes now, it looked like Osei had hit a sore spot with him.

"So you are willing to accept any punishment decreed by me as fair?"

"Yes I am commissar," said 0817 sharply.

"Good," said Osei turning to leave. "But you better heal up quick, because I think that you owe the Korps about eight clicks of running. Then another four for me. You do realize that you can't yell at a commissar don't you?" The Korpsman's face changed ever so slightly and if Osei had to guess he would say that he was surprised that he had broken yet even more regulations. There would be punishments, but Osei would go easy on him. After all, why kill the golden goose of disciplinary action?

For the next several weeks while 0817 healed, he was kept under constant guard by naval arms-men in the infirmary. He had to write letters of apology to the naval arms-men he had injured and had his pay suspended for six months. Once his leg healed sufficiently he began to have to report for disciplinary duties, usually pertaining to polishing other guardsmen's boots and cleaning sanitation facilities completely with his toothbrush. Needless to say, 0817 got a new toothbrush for personal use. He was also not allowed to go to any of the ships common rooms and had to run errands for the commissar or the colonel. Once his duties and training was done for the day he was confined to his room. Needless to say he had gotten off extremely lightly. Thankfully he had no rank to lose, but it could mean that he wouldn't be promoted as fast. 0817 sincerely hoped that would not be the case, for it would mean that he would have to wait much longer before he could wield a powersword. His powersword.

One pleasant thing that had happened was that cadet commissar Walker and a Catachan guardsman named Daniels had come to visit him several times while in the infirmary. Walker had been especially concerned about what had happened and how severely they were questioning him about his disciplinary problems. She had seemed relieved when 0817 had told her that the matter wouldn't be looked into further, or his past reports looked into and had told 0817 that she knew he wasn't a problem and that if someone ever started questioning him to come find her or Daniels. 0817 liked the visits and assured her that he would find one of them in the case of further questioning.

It turned out though that there is not really a great deal of work to do for a regiment in transit, especially one that likes to handle its own uniform and personal items. There was only so much work that could be done before there was simply no more to do. This problem was soon solved by lending 0817 to commissar's around the ship who had need of another set of hands or just simply a pack mule. 0817 gained a reputation as a dependable and obedient worker, as well as respectful among the commissar's around the ship. He was always on hand, there when needed, but not underfoot or in the way. It now benefited him to have grown up around servants and to have seen how they acted or placed themselves. They were always there, but steadfastly ignored unless needed or required to do something.

No further enquiries were made about the fight or any other reprimands made. 0817 had to check in with the arms-men on duty every time he went anywhere, but that was the extent of it. He never did find out what happened to the mutant Gina, but he never heard anything so he just assumed that it got resolved. If anything though, he should have been more concerned about the mutant population and what they were doing. The whole ship should have been much more concerned.

Gina was working again, she was always working. The ship paid its indents with ration coupons and a cheap base metal monetary system that was only good on the ship. It could be spent on second hand clothing from a third hand source. It could be spent on hygiene products of questionable origins or more likely it could be spent on getting more ration coupons. A lot of twists and regular indents spent it on obscura and cheap grain alcohol. Gina had managed to stay away from both of the two, because a twist out of mind was a twist out of a job, and a twist without a job was a hungry twist. Gina was not originally form the "Emperor's Emissary," but from a merchant ship named "Piety Ascendant." It had been a much better ship to be on and one where you didn't have to pay to get your food. The bunk rooms had been cramped and lacked privacy, but you got a bed and clean linen once a week. There had even been an hour long service everyday for the faithful and it was one of the reasons that Gina had as strong of faith as she did. It had been very good treatment for twists, but as anything twists are a commodity and traded as freely as foodstuff.

Getting Imperial Crowns was hard and they were highly sought after on the "Emperor's Emissary." Gina was one of the luckier twists in the way that she didn't offend the regular crew just to look at as long as she wore her neck cover. She knew she was a twist, they knew, but as long as it wasn't in their face, it didn't bother them nearly as much. So as a result she got some of the more sought after jobs and made just a little more than the average twist. A problem though, was that Gina was used to far more food than she could get on the "Emperor's Emissary" which had caused her to become indebted to Grubb. She had already been late when she had managed to get the money together to pay him back, before having it taken from her and now she was even more behind. She didn't even have half of it together yet either. She had been ducking Grubb for the past few weeks and had about half of what she owed him. She had been able to get some of the better paying jobs, but it had cost her and she almost always went to bed hungry. Grubb eventually found her like she knew that he would, because no matter how big a ship is, it is still and enclosed space and twists aren't allowed to change decks.

The metal floor was cold on her knees and the lights were harsh white, the air as always was stale and metallic with the harsh tang of cleaner. The air was dry and make her gills itch, but wetting her neck cover from time to time soothed them well enough. If she didn't keep her gills at least damp, Gina found that she would soon feel short of breath and have trouble breathing. It was supposed to have something to do with the tissue inside of her needing to stay hydrated or something to keep working and diffuse oxygen. She wasn't an adeptus biologis so she didn't presume to understand completely, but what she did know was that she had to keep her gills wet.

She had managed to get a job from a crew woman to scrub the hallway floor with a coarse brush and bucket of soapy water. Gina assumed that it was supposed to be a punishment duty for the crewwoman, but the woman was willing to pay Gina three hundredths of a crown to do it for her. Three whole pence! Most of the time, a job like this would only pay about a half, or if she was lucky, a full pence. It wasn't exceptionally hard work scrubbing the floor, but it did take a long time and made her stay in one area for longer than she liked. Gina didn't have Grubb's money yet and she didn't relish another confrontation with him.

With a last few forceful scrubs, the last stain in the stretch of hallway that she had to clean came free and left her stretch of the ship pristine. Gina rose rubbing at her aching lower back and went over to the crew woman, making sure not to make eye contact less she offend her. The crew woman cast her eyes over the cleaned hallway and seemingly satisfied, tossed Gina the worthless fortune. Gina managed to catch it and pocketed it quickly and made sure to thank her several times, before leaving. Now she just needed 22 pence to finish paying back Grubb. She had been hearing that he wasn't very happy with her and was looking for her. It would take at least a few more weeks to get all the money together and she had to keep working if she wanted to get the money together.

Maybe Gina was too eager to find another job, or maybe she was just lost in happy thoughts at having gotten such a large sum for doing a simple job. Either way, the reason doesn't really matter so much as the end result. Gina rounded one of the innumerable metal hallways in the "Emperor's Emissary," and very nearly ran into Grubb.

"Oh, s'what's topside Grubb?" asked Gina surprised and a little apprehensive. Grubb was with Thuke and Plev, two large misshapen twists from the cargo holds and made up for their lack of intelligence with rippling muscle. Grubb smiled as if absurdly pleased with himself and spread his arms out as if to embrace Gina.

"Where have ya been sweet gene? Old Grubb here s'was thinking that you'd switched s'decks on 'em. "Got sum oh my good eagle, or just sum hard clink?" He spoke friendly and openly, but Thuke and Plev moved so that they weren't quite behind her, but could easily block any escape route.

"Well Grubb, I's been doing some shiny work to get you sum oh that good eagle."

"That's what I like to hear sweet gene, where be s'my good eagle? Got it handy?" Gina felt her stomach drop and she rubbed at her arm nervously.

"I's got about half of what's I owe you. I had all s'the good eagle, but a clink took it and tossed it down the warm tubes." Gina shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."

Grubb chuckled lightly, his reptilian features splitting into a grin that showed far too many teeth. It sounded kind of like how a regular human would chuckle, but it hissed and wheezed as a human action was forced out of an inhuman body. For the first time, Gina noticed just how sharp Grubb's claws looked. Black and hooked, shiny as if polished and well manicured. They were filed into sharp points, each looking like they could hook and tear flesh with ease.

"Sorry?" said Grubb advancing to an uncomfortably close distance. "Well sweet gene, sorry ain't no goods no more's. People be talking real low, not just sum twists neither. S'those be saying dat Grubb ain'ts no good no more's. That Grubb's going soft and people don't be needin to pay there debts no more's." Grubb fixed Gina with a light purple eye set on the side of his head. The slit pupil now seemed so very foreign and dangerous. More than it ever had before. "How's you thinkin that be s'makin me feel?"

"Not, very good," said Gina clearing her throat nervously, looking into the looming reptilian face.

"No, it not be making me feels good at all. S'makin me feel angry, dark bad kinds of anger. Ya know?"

"Yeah's I be knowin the s'anger you be's feelin. As soons as I be gettin the good eagle you-"

"Why you flappin like some twist sweet gene?"

"Well, I's-"

"You ain't no twist oh mine and I be knowin you speak like dem stomps so how about you start flapping like one before I cut the parts that be letting you flap?" Grubb's voice was deadly serious now, there was none of the friendly banter or the twist camaraderie. Gina had heard that Grubb could be ruthless when he needed to, had been before Gina had been bought by the "Emperor's Emissary," or so she had been told. She had never seen anything bad done by Grubb though, never heard of anything being done since she had come onto the "Emperor's Emissary." That didn't mean that it hadn't ever happened though.

"Okay Grubb, well, what do you want?"

"S'what do I want?" chuckled Grubb in his hissing laugh. "I s'want my good eagle and you be getting it to me or I's be sending a message." Thuke and Plev closed in behind Gina menacingly.

"What kind of message?" asked Gina feeling very uncomfortable.

"I's be sending the permanent kind," said Grubb clacking his claws.

"Okay, uh, I'll have your money by the end of the week I promise," said Gina quickly.

"Promising ain't no good no more sweet gene, I s'want my good eagle by the end of the cycle."

"But, I can't get it that fast," protested Gina.

"Then you's best be gettin it if you s'want to be stayin pretty sweet gene. Specially since you be owing me a big eagle." Gina's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"I only borrowed a half-crown from you Grubb. You're asking for twice what I borrowed from you, that's not fair and you know that I can't get it to you."

"You's been late with the payin, real late," said Grubb angrily. "You be thinkin that you can pay back the good eagle whenever you be wantin to with none oh that interest? Ain't gonna be rollin dat way sweet gene." Gina felt like she had just been hit in the stomach by an astartes wearing a powerfist and she felt sick. How was she going to pay back an entire crown? Before the end of the day no less.

"Course," began Grubb like he was offering Gina a favour, the way you would nonchalantly tell a pupil the answer on a test in a roundabout way. "you's could always be one on my sweet gene rides. Always be havin room for a strand like yours, especially for sum oh dem stomps."

"No," said Gina outraged. "I'll get you your money, but I won't do it like that. I've told you before that I wouldn't, and I still won't."

"Okay sweet gene, that be you decision to make, but remember, the crown be in my hand by end oh the cycle or else."

Grubb left with Plev and Thuke to the mutant quarters calling over his shoulder, "remember sweet gene, end oh the cycle." Gina didn't know how she was going to get the money to pay him back that quickly, but she was going to have to do it fast.

"So 817, how's punishment duty been treating you?"

"Efficiently, if a bit lenient commissar," said 0817 to cadet commissar Walker. They were in the mess along with Daniels and she had been asked to watch him since that Osei had been called in to act as a judge on a panel for a guardsman who had broken protocol and his fate was yet to be decided. It was noisy in the mess hall, as well as hot from the heat of the fryers and various cooking stations. The mess hall was a square room filled with cheap plastic tables and attached benches. It was almost always full on account of the shift changes in ship, but the guard regiments had a more routine schedule to keep. There were posters of devotion and encouragement of the wall, faded with age as well a picture of the current ship captain hanging at the front of the room. He was a portly man with pale skin and by portly it looked like he couldn't leave his command chair if he tried. The uniform that he wore appeared to be more of a all weather tarp that you would use to cover a thud gun then to fit a person with. He had a series of chins, somewhere around eight and no neck. It was a prime example of naval laziness and slack lifestyle.

"How's your face feeling by the way? Is it sore, do you get asked about it or anything?"

"No commissar, it is healing well and I thank you for your concern."

"Well, it is a commissar's duty to look out for the welfare of guardsmen and their injuries," said Walker before making a face and stomaching another spoonful of the grey gruel in front of her. "ugh, that's awful stuff."

"It's full of vitamins and nutrients commissar, quite advantageous in light of our current predicament aboard this ship. It is full of vitamin D to make up for the lack of sunlight, much how on Krieg we have supplements to give to make up for the lack of light," said 0817 mechanically shovelling the gruel into his mouth, holding his mask to the side.

"Yeah Amy, it's healthy and good for you. Here comes the Valkyrie," said Daniels putting his own spoon filled with the gruel in front of Walker's face. She glared at Daniels with two ice blue daggers, before opening her mouth and taking the gruel with another grimace of disgust.

"Daniels, it is improper to call a commissar by their given name and punishable by-"

"It's fine 817, I'll deal with it later and be sure to 'punish' Daniels accordingly."

"Oh, forgive this trooper commissar, it did not mean to intrude on your authority," said 0817 apologetically.

"It's fine," said Walker with a wave of her hand. They ate in silence for a while and 0817 was almost done his gruel and Walker was still playing with hers when Daniels asked his a question.

"So how sick did you get when Braxon stabbed you with his Fang?"

"Pardon?"

"How sick did you get? Were you in the infirmary for a long time, do you have trouble walking, what?"

"This trooper does not understand the question, It did not get sick after its altercation with guardsman Braxon."

"But you did get stabbed by his fang right?"

"Yes, this trooper was injured by guardsman Braxon's blade."

"You do know that we coat our blades in poison most of the time right?" 0817 looked up from his gruel.

"What?"

"Yeah, we coat them in neuro toxins, venom, poison, flesh eating bacteria, whatever is on hand really. Most of the time it's lethal immediately and other times it sits in the hosts system for months without any adverse side effects until it gets its trigger."

"Wh-what trigger?"

"Well," said Daniels leaning forward conspiratorially. "It can be when their heart rate picks up, when they go to sleep, when they drink a certain kind of liquor, or" said Daniels pausing for effect. "When they eat a certain kind of food. Death is usually instantaneous," he said leaning back in his chair and inspecting his fingernails.

0817 looked down at his gruel as if it had suddenly grown teeth and was moving.

"Daniels, would, would there be any kind of sign or symptom that would warn me of the poison becoming active in my system?"

"Not really, most people just die right away. Though they do sometimes complain of a funny aftertaste right before they go."

"This trooper needs to get to the infirmary immediately," said 0817 rushing to his feet panicked.

"Calm down kid, I'm just messing with you, you're not going to die."

"But you said that the aftertaste meant that this trooper was going to die."

"I was messing with you," said Daniels smiling. "The gruel always has an aftertaste and I thought it would be funny."

"It wasn't," said 0817 sitting down embarrassed, having made heads turn in his direction with his outburst.

"No need to get so angry about it, it was just a joke," said Daniels neutrally.

"This trooper is sorry that it gave the impression of being angry, it was just concerned that it was going to die."

"Kid, if you were going to die you would have died after you got stabbed. You were just lucky that Braxon didn't have poison on his fang or you wouldn't be sitting here." Daniels scraped the last of his gruel out of his bowl and finished it. "Plus now you've got a couple of scars to impress the ladies with."

"This trooper was stabbed in the face."

"Builds character, besides I will let you know that it's a fact women like scars. Drives them just wild."

"Really?" said 0817 perking up quickly.

"Oh yeah, see this?" asked Daniels pulling back his olive drab muscle shirt. "This nasty looking fella was given to me by a Catachan Devil, real mean bastard too." It was a large scar in a circle with jagged scar tissue, evenly spaced that looked like they had been made by teeth. It dominated the Catachan's shoulder and looked very painful. There were also some bite marks that looked superficial and relatively new. They didn't even look like they had even broken the skin come to think of it.

"What about those ones? They appear to have been inflicted recently."

"Oh, these?" said Daniels sounding surprised, Walker stopped her spoon halfway to her mouth and seemed to be listening with great care, watching them out of the corner of her eye. "Well," said Daniels grinning like a juvie who had just stolen an iho stick from its parents. "I got this from the most dangerous creature of all, not even from Catachan either. Have you ever heard of, the Yellow headed pouncer?"

"No, is it dangerous?"

"More than you could ever imagine," said Daniels grinning from ear to ear. "Would you like to hear about it?"

"This trooper is interested in learning about a new species," said 0817 curious, because he had never heard of anything called a yellow headed pouncer before.

"Yes, please tell us all about this, pouncer," said Walker tapping her spoon on her bowl.

"Well," said Daniels using his hands for emphasis. "They're not that big, only between five and six feet tall and they're not that heavy, can't be more than fifty or sixty kilos."

"Oh, so weight matters does it?" said Walker nonchalantly, now twirling her spoon in her hand.

"A better description is always preferable when learning about a new species ma'am," said 0817 wanting to hear more about the pouncer.

"Yeah Amy, every little detail is important," said Daniels, the smile still on his face.

"Then by all means, please continue," said Walker now stirring her gruel.

"Well kid, when they pounce you, they get you while you're sitting down or while your sleeping and they get you right around the waist and pin you down, then they start biting and scratching you and make all kinds of noises."

"Isn't it dangerous to keep one on the ship with you if they attack you like that, especially if they're so vicious?" asked 0817 concerned. Keeping live animals on a ship in the warp could make them act unpredictably and dangerously, especially an animal that was prone to violence like this yellow headed pouncer. Strange that he had never heard of it before, 0817 was sure that he would have heard of it somewhere before.

"Ah they're harmless," said Daniels dismissively, "and the regiment needs a pet anyways. More of a mascot really and I'm the only one it really goes after anyways, guess it just likes how I taste. They're real friendly too, gets along great with other people."

"A pet?" said Walker, her face red and tone sharp. "The regiments mascot huh?" Her lips were in a thin line and she was glaring daggers at Daniels.

"Oh come on Amy, it's just a bit of fun, not like I meant anything by it and you know how dangerous those yellow headed pouncers can be."

"Yeah real dangerous, good thing that you don't have to worry about one of them coming to see you for a long time now isn't it?" For the first time, the smile left Daniels face and adopted the look of someone who had just dropped their slice of cake. "Don't forget to finish your meal," said Walker dumping the rest of her gruel into Daniel's bowl before rising to her feet and leaving.

Daniels looked down at his bowl and gritted his teeth, slumping his broad shoulders in defeat. He had messed up and now Amy was mad at him, what a dumb thing to do.

"Where are the yellow headed pouncers from? This trooper would like to see if it could study one or perhaps get it for it's regiment as well; if they are harmless and if it's friendly it is sure that its colonel would like to get one as well. Perhaps as a personal pet."

Daniels looked at 0817 as if he wished that he would just burst into flames, before dumping the gruel from his bowl onto 0817's lap and leaving. 0817 stared down at his lap, then at the retreating forms of both cadet commissar Walker and guardsman Daniels. Why didn't either of them like the yellow headed pouncer?

After 0817 had cleaned off his greatcoat and fatigues, he began heading back to his quarters. He was supposed to be escorted by cadet commissar Walker, but she had left and 0817 didn't want to go looking for her in, because that would mean him having to go to other parts of the ship, possibly far away from his quarters and if he was found to be wandering he would be breaking the limitations of his punishment and then liable for greater punishment besides. So, a quick trip back to his room where he was supposed to be was a much option than looking around for his escort.

0817 walked quickly down the corridor leading to his quarters, a little apprehensive about wandering around without his escort and technically breaking the rules. He didn't know why cadet commissar Walker had left, but it must have been to deal with something important, possibly the yellow headed pouncer.

It was odd that cadet commisssar Walker allowed one of her guardsmen to call her by her first name, but perhaps the standards were different for Catachan regiments than for Krieg regiments. After all, she had seemed more and more surprised the more that he told her of how a Krieg regiment worked. He had even heard commissar Osei make passing remarks about how unique the situation was when a commissar was a part of a Catachan regiment.

"Hey aren't you the one that busted up Wilkins and the others?" 0817 turned and saw a sour faced arms man with a stun baton on his hip.

"Yes sir, this is the trooper responsible and it is returning to its assigned domicile as per orders."

"Where's you're escort then trooper?"

"This troopers escort has left on urgent business sir, and it is travelling alone."

"Well I'm going to have to take you back to your quarters now, hands behind your back, come on let's go." 0817 put his hands behind his back and soon had short chained plas steel cuffs on his wrists that were too tight and was walking in front of the naval arms man who pushed him along and had his stun baton in his free hand. 0817 didn't really pay attention to where he was going, but soon realized that he was in a part of the ship that he didn't recognize and it seemed to be in a state of disrepair.

"Sir, where are we exactly? This isn't anywhere near this troopers quarters."

"Shut up and keep walking," said the arms man sharply, pushing 0817 roughly so he stumbled.

"Yes sir," said 0817 respectfully.

"Cut the attitude."

"Yes sir."

They kept walking until they reached an open room, with only a few petroleum powered lamps and when they entered, the arms man shut the door behind them. It squeaked as it closed and when it shut, the loud clang seemed to echo around the room. The room was rusted and the pipes overhead leaked and the floor was stained. 0817 was starting to get worried now, but he was with an arms man, the law aboard the "Emperor's Emissary," so he should be safe enough.

With a groan of metal, a door on the far side of the room opened inwards and over a dozen naval arms men, some of which were women came through. They carried stun batons, and were wearing the usual armour of security on the more dangerous levels of the ship. They formed a loose semi-circle around 0817 and now he began to feel that something was definitely wrong and that he was in more danger being around the arms men than he was if he had been in a roomful of mutants.

"Hey there big guy, remember me? I remember you, in fact I have three reasons to remember you." It was Wilkins who spoke, holding up his hand which had three shiny new augmetic replacements on it. "You like it? Well, it was the best that I could afford and this is the third set I've gotten. Turns out that my body just doesn't like augmentics, in fact the medicae say that it actively rejects them. Do you know what it's like to lose some of you fingers? Do you know how much it hurts to have half of your frakking hand blown off? The medicae couldn't even reattach my fingers because they were to badly mangled. They weren't even damaged, they were little chunks of meat and bones. You wrecked my fathers navy ring too, did you know that? My father gave me that the day I joined as an arms men, but that's not even the worst of it. I've had infections, swelling, pain, itching, and all those other frakking things in my hand, not to mention that when my fingers don't respond to me and it feels like I don't have any fingers at all. Now, I'm not a man prone to violence, but I have to say that this. Well, this makes me just go absolutely frakking, CRAZY!" finished Wilkins savagely, throwing his augmetic hand into 0817's stomach.

0817 went with the blow, taking it before lashing out with a kick that threw Wilkins back several feet. 0817 tried to get some distance between himself and the naval arms men, but his body was hit with such a sudden electric jolt that it paralysed him and caused his legs to give out as he fell to the floor twitching. 0817's limbs were spasming erratically and they wouldn't respond to his commands. The stun batons carried by the naval arms men were meant to pacify anyone in a riot with only a single swing and had a variety of power settings, ranging from a light jolt to feeling like you fell onto a mag line. The arms man behind him had hit him with his stun baton across the back and even through all 0817's armour, it still felt like it had hit bare skin.

The rest of the arms men were on him in a minute, kicking, punching, hitting with their stun batons. 0817 could hardly feel the blows through the stun baton barrage, couldn't do anything to protect himself. He tried to bring his legs up to protect himself, and tried to think through the pain, but he couldn't move and any part that tried received a blow from a stun baton. Still, 0817 fought on in any way he could, lashing out with his feet, trying to gore one of their legs with the spike atop his helmet, tried vainly to trip one of them with his body; rolling around on the floor, but ending up just jerking around instead. 0817 had never felt so useless, so fragile as he did now, and it was terrifying in the extreme, going beyond his Korps trained ability to handle it. 0817 could handle dying with a weapon like this, but not trussed up and helpless. He wasn't supposed to die yet throne damn it!

Amazingly, with a Herculaneum effort of will, 0817 began to push himself up in spite of the blows. His vast frame and bulk normally possessed an immense amount of strength, but it was increased to an unnatural degree by his anger and fear, making him push himself to his limits and beyond. He made it so that he was in a half sitting position before a heavy navy issue boot stomped down on the front of his mask and sent him crashing back down to the floor. 0817 dimly saw Wilkins above him, his face marred by savage animal hatred. Wilkins mouth moved, but no words came out. It was then that 0817 realized that the only sound he could hear was a shrill ringing sound and could barely feel the blows to his body anymore. Wilkins drew back his hand with the augmetic fingers and hurled it into 0817's face again and again. The mask took the worst of it, but the fist came again and again, each time 0817's vision getting a little darker. With a final moment of almost surreal clarity, 0817 saw everything in vivid detail. The dim shadows cast by the petrol lamps, the seamless grey-white uniforms of the arms men, the scuffs in their boots, and most prominently of all, the glint off of the mechanical fingers on Wilkins hand. Everything was moving at a fraction of normal speed, as if playing slow motion footage of a scrumball game. Then as if the phenomenon was only a passing force, like the wind or the tides, everything went back to regular time and the fist accelerated down to 0817's face, his vision flashing white before going to black.

0817's body went slack and stopped resisting against the blows raining down against him, no longer even reacting, only moving because of the blows. Eventually the blows stopped coming and the arms men pulled back panting and resting their muscles, sweat beading their features from the intense exertion. They deactivated their shock batons and fixed their uniforms, wiping at the sweat on their faces and their necks. They had sent a message and gotten vengeance, but it wouldn't be enough. The Korpsman had seen their faces, new who they were and if by any chance he was alive, he would talk and talking would lead to trouble. A body would make trouble too, which meant that they had to get rid of the body. They had done it before, taken them down to the ships smelting plant where it turned raw ore or salvage into useable parts for the "Emperor's Emissary, especially for when they were on long voyages or had the potential of coming under fire and dry dock was a long ways off. It melted bodies as well as any metal, better in fact. The Korpsman would be no different.

It was early in the morning and unarmed training was first thing, followed by physical exercise, then studies with sister Freya and then an assortment of tutors and professors meant to teach him everything from ancient Terran history to math, but Erich just didn't feel like getting up today. Father would be angry of course, but the only time he was allowed to sleep in later was when he was pronounced too sick to leave his bed by the family medicae staff, but that rarely happened. The Von Shreiders could afford the best and that was exactly what they got. A dozen doctors were on rotating shifts so that there was always a fully trained medical staff ready for the needs of the Baron and his family, each of them in the top ten percent of their graduating staff and impossible to fool. Erich thought briefly about getting up again, but the softness and warmth of his bed was just so welcoming and beckoned for him to stay. Erich decided to let himself to sleep just a little bit longer.

"Master Erich, it's time to get up now." It was a lyrical and soft voice, faint through the haze off fatigue and sleep. Erich thought that it was only his imagination, a pleasant voice from inside his mind trying to get him to his feet and he resolutely ignored it.

"Come on sleepy head, it's time to get up now," this time the soft voice was accompanied by a gentle shaking and Erich opened his eyes. He saw the pretty, kind face of his caretaker Elisha smiling down at him, her long silver hair tied back behind her head. Caring hazel eyes met his own sleep dulled grey ones.

"I'm tired and sore," complained Erich wanting to sleep, but at the same time wanting to spend time with Elisha. She was so nice to him and she was always so proud of him when he did well. It made him try especially harder, just to get the praise from her that he had begun to crave.

"Oh, I know you're tired Erich, but you've got to get up now, you've got work to do yet," said Elisha sympathetically, still talking in her soothing voice.

"Just a few more minutes," said Erich turning over in his bed.

"You don't have a few minutes silly," said Elisha shaking him playfully. "We've got to get going, going, going on a journey, far through the hills and o-ver the plains. The sun is high a-bove you, your steed is strong be-neath you. So with out heads held high, we'll journey on. For we are riding through the plains, endless as the stars so high a-bove you, that shine down their starry light on-to you, as pure, and bright, as the Emperor's love. It's as endless as time, you know that it's true. It slips through our grasp, as we watch it all fade away. The fields stand tall, see them shimmer and wave. We dance through the fields, of gold and jade. More precious than life, more joyous than love, worth more than a-ny stone. For we are going, going, going on a journey," sang Elisha trying to get Erich out of bed. The first and last verses didn't sound like they were part of the song, more like they were just an excuse to shake Erich vigorously.

"If you keep singing I'll get out of bed," said Erich, wanting to hear Elisha's musical voice again. She hardly ever sang, but when she did, she was absolutely wonderful.

"How about this, If you get out of bed I'll keep singing and," said Elisha holding up her finger for emphasis, "give you three ice berry candies."

"Can't you just keep singing?"

"Oh come on now Erich, you know that you have to get up now or your father will be unhappy," warned Elisha. Erich gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Come on Erich, you've got to get up. Get up Erich. Get up."

0817's eyes snapped open and he the first thing he saw was dark metal, and then he heard the deep rumble of heavy machinery and then he felt the dry heat around him. He tried to move, put felt pain wrack every part of his body, so much that it hurt to even breathe. 0817 felt wrong, his body felt wrong. He had broken bones before, many in fact while in training and at home. He knew how it felt and how it affected his body, and it didn't scare him. What scared him was that the feeling of broken bones was everywhere. His breath came in wheezing gasps and he had alternating spells of numbness and searing pain. 0817 turned his head, ignoring the protest of pain and looked around him. He was in some sort of channel with scratched and worn steel walls on either side, and he was in a low spot. There was scrap metal lying around, and even some unrefined ore that shifted or rolled occasionally. 0817 realized that he was sweating and the heat was stifling.

As he looked farther down the line, he saw a glow in the distance. It was golden and red, like the forges and smelting plants on Krieg. 0817 came to the understanding that he was on a conveyor belt system that was feeding raw materials into a smeltery. It took him a while to come to a conclusion in his pain fuddled mind but eventually it made itself quite clear. He was going to be fed into a vat of boiling metal unless he could move.

0817 began pushing himself to his feet and thankfully his hands were not bound anymore. Slowly, like a rising titan, 0817 brought himself to his feet on shaky legs and realized that his left ankle was broken. It was agony to even move and 0817 thought that he might just throw up inside of his mask, but he was from Krieg and he wouldn't do something as humiliating as that.

0817 climbed a small pile of debris and got within reach of the upper channel wall. He grasped it and began to pull himself upwards. His chest protested sharply and it almost felt as if his chest gave ever so slightly. Cracked and broken ribs, not what he needed right now. He almost let go from the pain, almost gave in. It would be so much easier to just give in and let his last few moments be as free of pain of possible. But he couldn't do that, he wasn't allowed to. He had made an oath to return alive no matter what he might face, or what challenges he would have to overcome. A Krieger never went back on an oath, never.

With a grunt that soon turned into a yell of pain, 0817 pulled himself up onto the ledge, only to be kicked back down into the trench. 0817 blacked out for a moment, and when he came to he saw Wilkins walking along the ledge above him, with a smile on his face.

"So how do you like the melter express?" asked Wilkins. 0817 only groaned in response.

"Yeah I know that it's filled with garbage and refuse, but it's going to get burned up anyways." 0817 coughed in response.

"What's that? Oh yeah, I completely forgot about that part. You're down there too, which means that you're going to burn too." Wilkins looked contemplative for a moment before shrugging, his pace going at that with the trams speed. "Oh well, I guess that we're going to have to fix that for next time won't we? What am I saying? We," Wilkins chuckled to himself. "You aren't going to make it out of here and you want to know why? It's because I don't like you, in fact I hate you. You took my fingers, but I'm a grownup and I can put those kind of things behind me, like how I'm going to put all this behind me after I see you burn." 0817 wheezed and shifted so that he was sitting up, causing some of the debris and ore to tumble down the small mound.

"The others wanted to kill you and just dump your body to burn, but not me, nope. Of course I want you dead and I'm going to see you die, but I'm going to see you suffer before I watch you burn alive. Have anything to say for your last words? Only a couple of minutes now before we reach the end of the line." 0817 let out a phlegm filled cough.

"What was that?" asked Wilkins mockingly. In a quick, fluid motion, 0817 brought his arm across his body and threw a hunk of ore like a speeding bullet. It his Wilkins in the side of the head and he fell into the trench like a block of rockcrete.

In great pain, but knowing that time was of the essence, 0817 brought himself staggering to his feet and stumbled towards Wilkins. Wilkins looked disorientated and was pulling his shotgun free even as 0817 reached him. 0817 hit Wilkins in the face again, an almost perfect repeat of the first time they had met, but his arm was weak now, his punch sluggish. Wilkins staggered back and tried to bring the shotgun to bear on the young Korpsman. 0817 grabbed the shotgun and levered it away, but he was so weak. They struggled for the gun.

Wilkins had blood running down the side of his head, staining his hair a dark crusty brown, a snarl of rage on his features, with oaths and curses pouring out of his mouth. 0817 was silent, focused in grim concentration on survival, but his body felt like it was made of glass and it hurt far too much to move, much less struggle for a gun.

Wilkins lashed out with a kick to 0817's leg and the pain made him feel like he could pass out. If he did that now though, he would die. He pushed the gun harder, forcing Wilkins back towards the wall and a pile of jagged metal debris. If he could only force Wilkins upon the pile he could win. Step by step 0817 forced him back, heedless of his broken ankle and damaged body. Wilkins struck him again and this time, 0817 let go of the gun and stumbled back. The blow had hit him in the chest and this time the pain was too much. 0817 looked bleakly at Wilkins who had a savage look of triumph on his face. Wilkins brought the gun up to his shoulder and aimed squarely at 0817's chest. 0817 felt tired, so very tired now. He had lost and there was nothing he could do about it. His body was broken, his will was gone and he had nothing left to give.

"No." Erich heard the voice, but it wasn't Wilkins who said it and it wasn't him. It was coming from inside of him. The voice was deep and powerful, possessing a seemingly endless amount of willpower. It filled him with power. He wouldn't die like this, it wasn't right. With a sudden surge of energy and an unexpected amount of hate, 0817 rushed Wilkins. He dodged to the left as Wilkins fired, taking the weight on his broken ankle like it wasn't even hurt. The adrenaline was extreme and the rage focused his mind like a high powered las beam. Whereas before 0817 had always been thinking of strategies and different ways to fight, he had only one thought on his mind now. Kill Wilkins.

0817 ploughed into Wilkins and picked his up like he weighed nothing at all. 0817 picked up Wilkins by the scruff of his tunic jacket, lifting him high up into the air.

"DIE DAMN YOU, DIE!" This time it was 0817 who spoke, the voice inside of him giving him strength through rage and it was now coming out. 0817 rammed Wilkins body down onto protruding pieces of metal piping and poles. He rammed Wilkins onto the pile so hard, that the metal entered through his back and exited through his chest in a gaping wound. Blood spurted out from the gaping wound and doused the front of 0817's uniform. Wilkins choked up blood, even as it began to spread from his torso and run across the scrap metal.. 0817 was surprised when he found himself thinking that what he had done wasn't enough and he grabbed a fighting knife from Wilkins belt and rammed it into his skull all the way to the hilt and felt a sadistic satisfaction as he saw the light drain from his eyes. Wilkins slumped over dead, the knife stuck fast in his skull and his body stuck fast to the metal. 0817 took a half step back panting hard. Why had he done that? Killing his was necessary, but to do it in a way that let him see him die was unnecessary and bordering on psychopathic tendencies. Had he really hated him that much?

The heat was intense now and the light from the smeltery was intense now, even through his tinted eyepieces. 0817 grabbed the auto pistol from Wilkins belt, foregoing the shotgun in case his weakened body couldn't handle the recoil. 0817 was halfway out of the trench, when the pain returned full force. He almost let go, and his stomach almost leg go of his lunch. 0817 hung motionless for a moment, before with an effort ten times greater than before he pulled himself up on trembling arms, and with a final cry, pulled himself up and to safety.

0817 fell in an exhausted heap on the hot metal flooring, every part of his body in agony. He had to get to safety, he had to get to the commissar. He couldn't trust the arms men, couldn't trust anyone from the navy. He didn't know who all wanted him dead, but anyone from the navy was suspect. He could only trust the commissars and maybe other guardsmen. A Krieger most definitely, but anyone else, not a chance. Dragging up the last bit of strength he had, 0817 brought himself to his feet and began a lurching, lopsided walk to safety.

0817 felt faint, like he could pass out or throw up, probably both. He used breathing techniques and focused his mind on survival. It helped a bit. 0817 didn't know how long he walked before he reached the exit doors of the smeltery, only that when he did there was a naval arms woman waiting outside with a shotgun.

"Wilkins? Aw shi-" the woman never finished her statement or brought her weapon to bear, because 0817 put a bullet right through the centre of her forehead. He stepped over her body and kept walking. 0817 didn't remember much after that, half delirious with pain and fatigue, he stumbled from hallway to hallway, heading to the shared office of his commissar and colonel. He didn't remember getting on the lift to get to the higher levels, didn't remember how he got to the office. The last thing he did remember was getting to the office and opening it without asking to enter. It was breaking protocol, but he could hardly think, much less remember every nicety.

The commissar and colonel were sitting in high backed padded chairs talking, when 0817 stumbled into the room, auto pistol in hand. Commissar Osei was up in a flash, bolt pistol drawn and Stanton wasn't far behind.

"Drop it now trooper," said Osei voice resonating with authority, bolt pistol held rock steady. "This doesn't have to end with you in a body bag, if you have a grievance we can talk about it. If you have are unhappy about your punishment we can discuss it like reasonable men, just put the gun down." The auto pistol fell from nerveless fingers to the padded floor of the office.

"Good, now I want you to-" 0817 didn't remember the rest, because the room began to spin and his nausea rose to a level he couldn't control. The last thing that 0817 remembered was the floor rushing up to meet him and a single thought going through his head. He was safe, he had made it.

Gina counted the money she had, it wasn't enough. She had begged, borrowed, scrounged and worked every second of the day to get the money she needed to pay back Grubb. She had taken jobs that she normally wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, the really dangerous kind. She had cleared an obstruction for an industrial ventilation fan, nearly losing her arm in the process. She had done a lot of duct work in fact. Duct work was dangerous on a ship and more than one twist had had a fatal accident while cleaning them. One false move, one slip up, and you were dead. There were a lot of places to fall in the ducts and not a lot of ways to get help. Clude had been working with her in fact, they had been cleaning side by side when he had gotten too close to the edge of one of the shafts. Clude had 14 eyes spread around his head and all had been wide with fear as he fell and screamed. Gina hadn't known what to do, she could get help but no one was too interested in helping a twist and if she didn't finish, she wouldn't get paid. She had kept on cleaning.

She only had 48 hundredths of a crown on her, plus enough base metal currency to bring it to a full half-crown. Exactly what she had needed, before Grubb had raised the amount that she owed. She didn't want to be here, Alphabet City. It was the part of the ship that was full of unused storage hangars, deemed too dangerous to hold anything. A chemical or acid of some sort had apparently broken from a container years ago and weakened or eaten through the deck. It had never been replaced or fixed, so it was left unused and abandoned by the ship and crew. The twists however had made good use of it, turning it into a small city of sorts. Arms-men or naval security would come through from time to time on raids or police actions, but for every hovel they cleared out two more would take its place.

Having as much money on her as she did made Gina nervous, in Alphabet City they would kill you for a hit of obscura or even a shot of cheap hard twist-made liquor. She had what equated to a small fortune of her and she tried not to do anything too obvious to let on that she had money. Occasionally she would have to prove she was a twist to other mutants around, most here not knowing that she was a twist and at first glance she wasn't. She just looked like a regular serf, like a regular human.

Sometimes Gina wondered what it would be like to be human, seeing what they could achieve, what they could be. Sometimes she thought about what life could be like if she was human, perhaps she could be a sister of battle like she had heard about in the Imperial Creed Primer. She already had white hair, so she wouldn't even have to dye it. Gina sighed wearily, thinking about what she couldn't have would only depress her more.

Alphabet City was a shantytown, with alternating dim and bright lights stung on strings between hovels at important intersections, or what the twists thought needed lights or could afford them. The hovels were all dirty and rundown, most build from discarded ration boxes or discarded packing materials from the supplies that they shipped. The 'upscale' houses or businesses were either made of scavenged metal or built into the nooks in the ships hull. There was no formal governing system here, just a series of gangs whose control shifted from day to day with often violent and savage battles. There were no guns used, because then naval security would clean house with alphabet city, coming in and shooting indiscriminately. That or void all the oxygen leading to Alphabet City, they weren't afraid to do that.

The flooring was rusted and there was garbage everywhere in the streets, which already hardly had enough room for four people to walk abreast on. Gina was careful where she stepped and even took several detours to avoid paths where the excrement or garbage was heaviest. Gina didn't like coming here for that reason either, the garbage and filth was unnecessary and it just reinforced peoples perception of twists. Gina kept herself clean as a point of pride, she took care of herself, because frankly she still gave a damn about how she looked despite what anyone thought of what she was.

Gina came to the entrance of the bar that Grubb had told her to find and could feel the music pounding inside like a physical force inside, vibrating the very floor. It was in the good section of Alphabet city, at the wall where the chemical hadn't reached and where the floor was still strong. It was also a large building, at least two storeys, but only one floor. There was a gargantuan cyclops standing guard outside the size of an ogryn and with cloven feet. The iris of his eye was purple, but the sclera of his eye was an unhealthy yellow. He was covered in fur in a leopard pattern and he eyed her indifferently, blocking the doorway with his vast bulk.

"S'what being you're business 'ere twist?" he asked with a deep voice that rumbled from deep inside his chest, arms that rippled with muscle crossed in front of him.

"Boss man Grubb say he be needin me to be to pay back sum oh the good eagle," said Gina trying not to gag at the mans smell. He smelled even worse than the city around them, like he had never even been acquainted with the idea of water. His breath smelled even worse, like cheap liquor, obscura, and rot.

"Bes be headin in thun sweet gene, Grubb ain't likin to be waitin," rumbled the giant stepping aside from the door and allowing Gina to enter. She mumbled her thanks as she entered the bar.

The inside of the bar was dark, only the outline of people could be seen inside, except for the dancer on stage. It was a woman with clothes that might as well not have been there and seemed to be diminishing every second that passed. She was in the centre of the room and was gyrating crazily to the beat of the music, hard and fast. Slam, Crunk, or Pound was the various names that Gina had heard for the music and she didn't like it. The beat was primal and made her feel like she needed to get up and move which was nice, but it was too loud and the lyrics were too harsh to understand. It probably didn't help that the speakers were most likely scrounged together or so old that the tape holding them together was falling apart. Cutting in and out, with static hampering the already illegible lyrics. The woman on stage was a buxom woman with auburn hair and far too many eyes spread throughout her body, and salivating mouths running up her arms and legs. Gina touched her own mutation self consciously, sometimes she thought that she got off lucky with hers compared to others.

What light that there was, was a wine red and Gina wandered hopelessly lost around the bar, the music drowning out all sound and the inside of the bar covered in mirrors providing multiple images of the same things around the bar and of the opposite wall. Gina eventually simply gave up and sat at a low scrap bench and waited. If Grubb really wanted to meet with her, then he could just find her down here.

Gina didn't have long to wait, before Thuke came to get her.

"Boss man be wantin you on the up and up," said Thuke, his throaty voice coming from a sideways splitting mouth. Before Gina could respond, Thuke had her by the arm and was pulling her up a flight of stairs that seemed to blend into the wall.

"Why you s'being so hard wit me? Be trying to s'get a base ride?" said Gina trying to pull out of Thukes grip.

"Boss man also be saying that if you's start flappin like sum twist to rip of one oh your arms," said Thuke dispassionately. Gina's eyes opened wide in surprise, but she stayed quiet.

Grubb was sitting at a booth overlooking the main floor of the bar/club and was surrounded by girls, thugs, and what looked like other gang leaders with their own entourages. Thuke lead Gina to a seat at the booth and pushed her into it. Grubb didn't acknowledge her for a time, so she sat uncomfortably while a twist with a circular mouth and too many rows of teeth all set in a ring. When Grubb spoke, it was in a normal decibel voice and Gina had to strain to hear him.

"You's got my good eagle?" Gina put all the money she had onto the table in a small pile of low denomination crown pieces and base metal currency. Grubb sifted through it disinterested with the tip of his clawed finger.

"Dis ain't enough sweet gene," said Grubb looking up and fixing Gina with a piercing gaze, his hissing voice barely perceptible over the booming of the music below. "Y'know what I's gottsa do now eh sweet gene?"

"It's what I borrowed Grubb, I couldn't get the rest in that amount of time. I can get the rest, but I need more time."

"S'ain't no more ticks to be had," said Grubb making a gesture with his clawed hand. Gina barely had time to cry out as both Thuke and Plev grabbed her and pushed her face down onto the table. Grubb drew out a short bladed knife, worn from use and age. The rest of those assembled at the table watched on disinterested, there would be no help from any of them.

"Sorry sweet gene, buy you been keepin my good eagle too many ticks. S'what I'm gonna do, don't be takin it personal," said Grubb waggling his knife back and forth before bringing it to Gina's face.

"Wait, stop!" cried out Gina desperately feeling the cold edge of the metal against her face. "You said that I could be one of your girls and work it off right?"

"Mebbe I be sayin that," said Grubb tapping the knife on Gina's face. "S'why should I be letting you be doin that now? That deal s'was a one tick offer."

"I've already paid back what I owed to begin with right? So, technically I've paid what I owe and now I just have to get rid of the interest right? So you've got your money back and get to save face as well as have a new girl to earn you more money right? So the way I see it, you win both ways and if you don't mark up my face, you'll make more money. Pretty face and all," finished Gina with an unconvincing nervous laugh.

"Y'know sweet gene, you's may be flappin sum sense," said Grubb thoughtfully. "You's sayin that you be good? You's be clean?"

"Of course I'm good, and I'm as clean as the captains quarters, no problem."

"You pleasing?"

"Of course, I leave them panting when I'm done I'll be the best girl you've ever had," said Gina talking quickly and anything that sounded good. The knife was never far from her eye, glinting in the hellish red light of the club and worried that Grubb would wave the knife too far and take out one of her eyes.

"Supposin I be makin good eagle off you," said Grubb looking her up and down. "I's be given you a workin schedule of ticks s'you be gettin your scraps tight. S'don run sweet gene or I's gonna do more than mark."

"Of course, in a week I'll be ready don't worry," said Gina plastering on a winning smile, that had trouble staying in place. She didn't have any trouble leaving the bar though and that she did in a hurry. She had a week before she had to work for Grubb. She felt shame and loathing well up in her as she hurried through the shantytown. Of course she was clean, she hadn't ever done anything like that with another person. Pregnancy was basically a death sentence for a twist, especially with the conditions on the ship. She especially didn't relish going to one of Grubb's parties.

There was no musical voice from the past to wake him up this time around, 0817 woke to too bright of lighting and the steady beep of a heart monitor. Squinting, 0817 realized that he was in the infirmary and heavily bandaged and in multiple casts. What exposed skin there was was a mottled collection of black, blue, and yellow. 0817 must have made more noise than he intended, because one of the medicae came over to check on his and shine yet another light in his eye that actually hurt and forced him to shut them. The medicae scribbled a few quick notes before hurrying off to what looked like a more senior medicae. 0817 shifted his eyes to look at his wrist almost fearfully. His bracelet was still on, they hadn't taken it off. Why they hadn't when they had treated him was beyond his understanding, but as long as it was there he would be fine. The second thing that the grey orbs looked for was 0817's equipment, it wasn't anywhere in sight and it caused him no end to anxiety. He wasn't supposed to be separated from it, much less not know where it was. What happened if someone stole it?

0817 was still pondering this, when the colonel followed closely by commissar Osei entered. Cadet commissar Walker was at the tail end of the procession, head downcast. The colonel pulled up a chair next to the bed and seemed almost fatherly in how he was acting.

"How are you holding up son?"

"This trooper is still alive," said 0817 seriously. He had come very close to death.

"Can you tell me who did this to you? We'll bring them in I assure you, I don't let my guardsmen get hurt like this. Do you know any of their names? His name?"

"There is no point in saying names sir."

"Yes there is, even if they threatened you they can't hurt you anymore. You're safe now, we can keep you safe."

"Sir that is not what this trooper tried to convey in my meaning. The names do not matter, because the only one which this trooper knew is dead along with one of his accomplices." Stantons eyes opened in surprise, his greying eyebrows doing their best to accommodate them.

"You killed two people?"

"It was in self defence sir, the arms men accosted this trooper and attacked it. They then attempted to dispose of its body in the ships refining and manufacturing bay. This trooper managed to escape and kill the two arms men meant to ensure that it died."

"Arms men? You killed two arms men?"

"Yes sir, the others were not present thankfully or else this troopers survivability would have been a very low percentage sir."

"Bloody navy, always frakking over the guard," said Stanton angrily, half to himself. He stood up sharply. "Trying to kill my guardsmen again and then court martial them when they defend themselves. What a mess, what an absolute Emperor dammed mess," said Stanton flexing his augmentic hand restlessly. "How could this have happened?"

"Yes, how?" said Osei turning to Walker who looked like she would rather be anywhere else than there right now. "Didn't I tell you to watch him and take him to and from his room? That he was under strict disciplinary punishment and wasn't to be left alone? Mind explaining what happened? Commissar?"

"Well, um, you see," said Walker practically shaking in her boots. Dereliction of duty by a commissar was punishable by death and in fact demanded in most cases. If Osei so chose he could dispense the Emperor's justice right here and now, though that was usually reserved for extreme cases and a review board would usually look over a commissar's case. "I took him to lunch like I was supposed to and I watched him the entire time," said Walker. "But, then I, well. I kind of-"

"Lost him?" finished Osei angrily, forcing Walker to look him in the eye. "Let him get assaulted and nearly beat to death in an incident that cost two crew members their lives and could have been easily avoided if you had simply done your job like you were supposed to do? Two people are dead and a third, one of my guardsmen is due for a court martial. So do you think that you could give me a satisfactory answer before I take you before a commissariat review board? I can guarantee that they'll get an answer from you."

"I-I," stuttered Walker.

"It was this troopers fault," said 0817 causing Osei and Stanton to look at him surprised. "Cadet commissar Walker had food spilled on her uniform by another guardsman and told this trooper to wait while she made herself presentable befitting a member of the commissariat. This trooper left as soon as she was gone commissar, this trooper is completely to blame," finished 0817. The colonel and commissar were both looking at him with varying degrees of disapproval, but Walker looked like she could cry with relief and the gratitude was plain on her face. 0817 didn't know why he had lied for Walker, but he had and now the heat was on him.

"You disobeyed an order trooper?" asked Osei sounding surprised.

"This trooper was...wishing to return to its quarters faster so that it would not be breaking the conditions of its punishment."

"You broke one anyways," said Osei blandly.

"Yes, but... this trooper had forgotten that it needed to be escorted sir." 0817 felt slightly uneasy as Osei peered into his eyes as if searching for something.

"You're saying that you forgot one of the conditions of your punishment?"

"Yes sir," said 0817 quickly.

"Cadet commissar Walker, is this Korpsman telling the truth?"

"Um, I don't pretend to know what he's thinking sir, but he did leave me behind."

"I see," said Osei turning back to 0817. "So will you give me your word of honour that you are telling the truth Korpsman? Will you give an oath that you have told the truth?"

"Sir if you need this trooper to give its word than it will, but it is unnecessary for it is telling the truth."

"No you won't," said Osei simply.

"Sir this trooper is-"

"Lying. You're lying," said Osei with such certainty and conviction that 0817 knew that he was caught and he started to feel a nervous sweat bead his features. He hadn't escaped death to die by commissariat hand, stumbling half dead into his commanding officers office and collapsing on the floor. It made him wonder how he could have ever asked to be shot for breaking protocol. His shame for what he had done must have overridden his judgement.

"This trooper can assure you that it is telling the truth," said 0817 feeling like his throat was dying out. "It has n_ev_er mislead you." 0817's face flushed as his voice cracked. It was annoying and happened from time to time, and it was as bad for the Korps image as it was humiliating. He cleared his throat trying to ensure that it didn't happen again.

"I can see it in you're eyes, you don't know how to lie and it's plain on your face so why are you trying? Do you think that I can't tell when some kid is lying to me when I've had to deal with grown men? Give me a break and do us both a favour by telling the truth." Osei turned to Walker who refused to meet his gaze.

"Commissar, this is degrading to you as well. You're supposed to be an example to people, an inspiration and yet you're willing to let a sixteen year old take the blame for something you did? How low can you get? I can't prove that what you're both saying isn't true beyond a doubt, but it's so obvious that you're both lying. So I will ask you now, is this Korpsman lying to me?" Walker sighed in defeat, her shoulders slumping.

"Yes, he's-"

"Commissar this is supposed to go before a formal board of enquiry correct? If so, then myself and cadet commissar Walker do not have to talk to you without counsel," said 0817 suddenly, his voice now holding an aristocratic edge and spoken with the well mannered flowing speech of the Krieg aristocracy, causing Stanton to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"No, this is a guard matter and as an Imperial commissar, I have the right to mete out justice as I see fit or in collusion with my peers. Accused guardsmen do not get lawyers so the answer is no."

"This trooper disagrees. If it was a simply matter of this troopers wrongdoing than you could shoot this trooper where it lies, but it involves a member of the commissariat which is a much more serious matter if this trooper am not mistaken and it is not, then we: cadet commissar Walker and this trooper are entitled to a defence and do not have to answer to any of your questions or badgering."

"Badgering?" said Osei his voice taking on an edge. "You killed two arms men, commissar Walker is guilty of dereliction of duty and you are committing perjury."

"This trooper is not under oath so it is not perjury and with all due respect commissar, prove it."

"You admitted to it," said Osei sternly.

"This trooper was half delirious with pain and exhaustion. Who's to say what it really saw or did? The victim is always the worst witness commissar, as you know."

"The boy knows his rules and law," said Stanton amused. Walker was just staring at him like she didn't know where this Korpsman had come with easy confidence and noble arrogance.

"Then I'll get you a counsel and we can settle this in the ships court."

"A counsel from the ship?" said 0817 as if the very thought offended him. "This trooper will not have some community educated dullard defend it, it will hire its own counsel for itself as well as cadet commissar Walker."

"You have no money and you are wearing my patience thin trooper. You think you know what you're talking about but you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then that would make two of us would it not commissar?" Stanton laughed at this and took out a cigar as though the whole spectacle was nothing but a show for his amusement. Osei looked like he could spit nail though.

"Then where pray tell trooper would you happen to get the money necessary for this?"

"My family has given me a more than adequate sum to do with as I please and the trifling amount necessary for a defence will be no problem to get. What's the going rate for a lawyer here? 4000 crowns? Easy," said 0817 like he was explaining something painfully simple to a dull student.

"And who exactly is your family then trooper, that has given you this extravagant amount of money that you claim to have? Oh, and as a side note you owe laps for referring to yourself," said Osei becoming increasingly frustrated at the arrogant and snide Korpsman.

"Then I will have to give you those laps when I get better won't I? Commissar."

"You still didn't answer my question trooper and if you don't make it clear that you can afford what you're talking about I will exercise my right here and now." 0817 didn't answer Osei, but turned to Stanton instead.

"Sir does this trooper have permission to use its private name?" Stanton looked mildly surprised at the request but nodded his affirmation. If he had read the Korps handbook like he was supposed to, he would have known that the regimental commander must give permission before a trooper can give their real name. Stanton would have also know that he couldn't smoke in an infirmary, but he did it anyway letting loose a great ring of smoke.

"My name is Erich Rudolph Von Shreider of the Von Shreider family and minor baron of it," said 0817 grandly. "My mother is Helena Von Shreider and if you see fit to press this matter I will bring the full weight of my house to my and cadet commissar's defence. If I need to I can drag the matter out for years."

"Prove it."

"Colonel, could you please roll up the right sleeve of my gown?" Stanton reached out with his augmetic hand and pulled back the sleeve to reveal scar tissue in the form of a roaring dragon wrapped around an aquilla.

"Well, he's not lying," said Stanton. "That's the mark of the Von Shreider family alright, I remember it from the viewing box."

"So do I, among other things," said Osei wondering how Stanton could have remembered anything while so heavily intoxicated.

"Commissar, not to be rude, but I do believe you have to leave now. Cadet commissar Walker and I have to prepare out defence. Only two weeks left in our voyage to do so."

In the following week, 0817 was able to heal startlingly quickly with the aid of his families money to purchase the more potent, but harder to make treatments and drugs. His own formidable constitution aided in his recovery and by weeks end he was running through his own personal combat training, the doctors still excusing his from regular training. He was told that he could do light activity, but anything too strenuous and it could cause some of the mending bones to break. Key word being could, the treatments 0817 had received were the best possible on board the "Emperor's Emissary."

By the seventh day it was like the near death experience had never happened, a testament to the medical skill available to the Imperium. For the correct amount that is. 0817 was on bad terms with commissar Osei now, but he found that it didn't bother him too much. He wasn't going to just let himself be punished for doing what was necessary for him to live, even if he had done the crime they were saying he had. There was only a week left until they entered real space again and he had to prepare for the trial. 0817 put his quill down in annoyance and pushed the notes he had been writing off to the side. This was not how his career in the Korps was supposed to go. He hadn't even gotten to his first deployment and already he had gotten into several fights, put into the infirmary three times and twice with life threatening wounds. His service record was going to be terrible and as a result promotion was going to be hard to come by.

Most Korpsman would not care about promotion and would in fact try to avoid it at all costs. It was a mark of shame, a badge that was present for all to see. It meant that you were not brave enough in the face the enemy to fight till the last. It was one of the reasons that the Krieg officer corps was so diminished. When every officer is eager to atone and die gloriously in battle, the turnover rate was far to rapid and the officers far too inexperienced. 0817 craved it though, he wanted the stripes of a sergeant, the bars or a colonel, the plumed helmet of a general. He knew that he shouldn't want it, should despise it, but he wanted it so badly. He wanted to be able to wield his sword in combat, and Emperor permitting, his fathers sword.

The thing that he wanted most of all though, the thing that burned like a thousand stars inside of him, was revenge. He wanted revenge against the eldar. They had shamed his family, the long and proud Von Shreider family line had been spat upon. The blood of one of the original 22 generals who had made the decision for Krieg to be spared from heresy. Blood that was rumoured to have mingled with that of Jurgen and the blood that now coursed through his veins. It was a matter of honour that the wrong be righted, but more than that it was personal. They had attacked the woman he cared about most and if had even been a moment slower, he would have lost her as well as his father. His father. The lord general of Krieg, patriarch of the Von Shreider family, and a man of unending will. He had been firm but fair in his rule of his lands, a man of great dignity. A good man, and taken away in an instant by vile xenos. The eldar, even the very word was hard to say. As if even thought in his head it held on like tar until ripped out and forced to be acknowledged. He had made another oath on the night of his ascension, one that only he and he alone knew about. He had sworn that fateful night as he was hastily operated on in the brief moment of lucidity he had been able to steal. He had known that his father was dead, felt it, but his decision would have been the same. He swore on his immortal soul that he would deal the eldar such a blow that would never be forgotten and he would do it by his own hand. Later he had added to that oath. He had sworn that he would kill Jain Zar, phoenix lord of the banshees. Even if it caused his death.

Feeling tired and seeing the time, 0817 went to bed. Being an untouchable meant that it was easy for him to fall asleep while on a ship travelling through the warp and he almost never dreamt. When he did, it was from his own influences and events that a troubled or over active mind will contemplate in rest. It was quite beneficial to be immune from the warp and its influences, but it had its drawbacks. Chief among them staying asleep in an event that woke the rest of the crew, and had them fight desperately for their lives.

Gina didn't like the 'dress' as they called it, because it wasn't one. It was a white piece of cloth, probably stolen from a naval officers uniform and it barely went below her hips. Her hair had been done so it 'bounced' or something and makeup put on in globs that she had had to fix so it looked at least somewhat natural. It was her first night of working off her debt to Grubb and she really didn't want to be where she was, in a rundown, rusted out, and obscura smoke filled club in a section of the ship that she hadn't even known had existed before she had been taken to it. It was one of Grubbs famous 'plow' parties and it was in full swing.

Twists, serf whores, even a few who looked like slumming navy were doing whatever they wanted wherever they wanted. Not five feet from Gina a pair were going at it and they weren't the only ones. Nearly everywhere that she looked, people were doing the same on any available surface and doing any kind of chemical that could give you a buzz. There was also a kind of weird incense in the air, like the priests would sometimes wave around, but the incense smelled different. It was a heavy musky smell that had a familiar smell to it, but alien at the same time. It moved around the room seemingly on its own accord, sometimes against what airflow there was from the vents.

Grubb would occasionally check on them or swing them around and draw new designs on his chest with some kind of paint. A lot of people had the designs painted, tattooed, or disturbingly cut into them. In fact some were doing it right now and Gina had to look away. The blood was bad enough, but the symbols hurt to look at themselves. As if they were too bright a light and it stung her eyes to look at.

Gina wasn't the only one of Grubb's girls here, but she was the only one not currently earning her moneys worth. Her 'client' as he was called, was a horribly obese twist that seemed more concerned with stuffing his face then eating and Gina was all to happy to let him continue. Bits of food would fall from his mouth onto her and his lap made for a greasy seat, but it was infinitely better than the alternative. Maybe if she was really lucky, she wouldn't have to do anything tonight.

Gina's client was in the process of seeing how much food he could stuff in his mouth when Grubb went to the front of the room and signalled for their attention. He got it, mostly.

"I's be hopin you be s'havin a good tick, but now it's being the tick for the real special event I been Promisin all you." Gina watched with interest as everyone actually stopped what they were doing and began moving in, crowding towards the front. A different light was turned on and revealed an outline on the floor of a strange design and Grubb along with twists like Plev and Thuke began putting what looked like wax or maybe paint onto different spots seemingly at random.

Gina suddenly shivered involuntarily and rubbed at her arms. Her breath was a misty cloud in front of her that rose towards the roof before being swept up in a roving cloud of incense. When had it gotten so cold in here?

Grubb started chanting strange words and was soon joined by the rest of the group with party goers. It started out low, but steadily built in both volume and intensity until they were gyrating their bodies spasmodically and even the blob beneath Gina began to chant, bits of food flying from its mouth and its blubber jiggling excitedly as a deep baritone voice issued from its fatty depths. It was starting to get very cold now and Gina could see frost starting to develop on the low table in front of her and the walls. Gina suddenly felt very sick and dizzy, and her head felt like it was going to split. She shut her eyes and said a prayer under her breath for fortitude and strength. When she opened them again, she saw Grubb opening his arms wide like a preacher before drawing a knife across his chest and splattering the centre of the design with blood.

The incense began to gather and swirl around Grubb and the chanting was reaching a fever pitch, the swaying bodies looked more like seizure spasms. The incense started changing colour as it surrounded Grubb, then, it pulsed. Frost began to spread rapidly across the floor and roof before melting in an instant, leaving puddles of water on the floor dripping down from the roof. The entire front half of the room was covered by a pinkish purple mist and the party goers looked exhausted like they had just worked a full shift doing hard labour.

The mist began to clear and Gina could make out the outline of Grubb, just a dark silhouette in the mist. Then she saw another silhouette, taller than Grubb and much more feminine. As the mist cleared, Gina saw a woman who looked nearly eight feel tall with a purple hue of skin and long black hair. Gina couldn't stop staring at the woman. She was what every man desired and what every woman wanted to look like. There wasn't a trace of fat on her and everything was perfectly proportioned. Busty without being too large, slim without being skinny, and muscular without being laden with heavy muscle. Her clothing looked like hardened bone over her breast and crotch, but Gina wasn't really sure. Her voice was even pleasing, comforting and friendly like she could tell her anything, but Gina suddenly felt an intense fear like she needed to run as fast as her feet could carry her. Behind the woman was a shimmering purple portal that seemed to hover suspended in midair and would occasionally pulse like a heartbeat.

"I really must thank you for getting me out of that terrible place," cooed the purple woman to Grubb. "I think that you've earned your reward wouldn't you say Grubb? In fact I think that I'll give it to you myself, I just don't think that I can contain myself any longer." She was running a long, delicate finger under Grubbs chin brought him in close. She kissed him and Grubb looked like he was in pure bliss for a moment before he began to frantically struggle, his eyes bulging out and limbs pushing at the woman in front of him. Dark veins showed, even through his reptilian skin and then his body began to shrink in on itself like a dehydrated fruit until only a withered husk was left and he fell to the ground.

A daemon, Grubb had summoned a daemon. Gina felt her fear reach a breaking point, the point where nothing else in present but mind numbing terror. So Gina ran, she ran in the too short of dress, through rusted out hallways, and abandoned corridors. Laughter danced down the corridor even as the screams started to echo. There was more than one voice laughing.

With a harsh buzzing, 0817 woke up and turned off his alarm chronometer. He rose quickly and made his bed then cleaned his room. He donned the over suit of the Death Korps uniform, freshly pressed from the night before. Going for breakfast, 0817 stepped into the hallway, but stopped as his boot squelched. Looking down he saw that he was standing in some kind of yellow substance that resembled vomit. 0817 brought his boot up and the substance stuck to it in sticky strands. Damn navy can't keep anything clean, or working apparently thought 0817 as he noticed several flickering and malfunctioning lights.

Shutting the door behind his to prevent the substance from dirtying his quarters, 0817 headed towards the mess for his morning meal. He walked on the metal flooring where it showed, but more often than not he had to walk on the vomit like substance. Coming around a bend in the corner, 0817 stopped dead and reached for the rifle that he didn't have. Blood streaked the walls in places and tattered clothes and weapons were strewn up and down the length of the hallway. The bulkheads were scored with small arms fire from navy issue auto weapons. There had been a fierce struggle, but where were the bodies?

Walking carefully down the corridor, 0817 began treating it like a battlefield and checked every corner, every shadow, checked behind him, and walked more softly even though the point was moot with his boots squelching every time he took a step. It was with these precautions that he was expecting the arms man when be came hopping into the main corridor and blabbering hysterically.

He was jumping from each part of clear metal flooring like it was a juvie game and blabbering to himself that he had to get away. His uniform was torn and he was bloody, but his weapon looked functional.

"Arms man, what is the situation aboard this ship?" called out 0817. The turned to him like a startled prickle rat and shrieked before trying to run away. He slipped on the metal flooring and fell into the vomit like sludge. He screamed when he hit the sludge, then it moved. It moved like a living entity and wrapped around the man even as he tried to crawl out of it. It poured over him and 0817 heard the crunch of breaking bones and terrible sucking noises. The mass writhed for a moment, before smoothing out like it had before, except that now there were tattered clothes and a battered shotgun left behind. 0817 looked down at the sludge that he was standing in.

Scrambling backwards quickly trying to get out of the sludge, he lost his footing and fell heavily onto his back. 0817 braced himself for the worst. When the sludge just stayed inert, 0817 slowly got to his feet and looked at it. It hadn't reacted to him at all. Feeling the sudden need to test a hypothesis, 0817 took off a flak armoured glove and gingerly pressed his finger into the sludge. It turned black and crusty like a scab where his finger touched and some of the slime actually flowed away from his touch. 0817 felt the corner of his mouth quirk upwards, he had the advantage here. Grabbing weapons and ammo from the hallway, 0817 went looking for something to kill.

"Here they come again!" Axon called as he pointed towards a gibbering horde of mutants, eyes glowing with a hellish internal light. Daniels racked his liberated naval shotgun and blew a mutant away with a resounding boom. There was seemingly no end to these mutants and they just threw themselves at their haphazard defences. It had only started a few hours ago and already they had lost the deck right below theirs. This seemed like daemon work, but how could anything have gotten through the gellar field? It was still running obviously or else they would all be dead by now, consumed by daemons in an instant. This must have just been a small breach. The Catachans were able to hold their own quarters, but they hadn't heard anything from the others regiments and the naval security was stretched to the breaking point.

The mutants scrabbled, crawled, slithered, or skittered towards them each more horrible than the last and each died under a fusillade of bullets from the assembled Catachan. Colonel Harding was at the front as usual and yelling encouragement and curses in equal measure, while laughing like a maniac. He had an old, personal shotgun and he seemed to take some sort of personal glee from every kill of a mutant. Daniels reloaded and fired with trained efficiency, but he was distracted. He hadn't seen Amy since any of this had started and he was worried about her. Someone alone with daemons around didn't last long. A commissar having a relationship with a guardsman was strictly prohibited, but after Antolo had gotten fragged Amy had gone to him for protection from the rest of the regiment. Well technically he had saved her from death, but that was a technicality. She hadn't even been twenty at the time she had shown up with her chainsword still gleaming with forge world newness. If anyone outside the regiment ever found out what was going on between them, daemons would be the least of their worries.

When the horde of mutants finally subsided, Daniels and several other Catachan were sent out to clear the bodies and keep their fields of fire open. The bodies kept piling up, sometimes almost to the ceiling and it protected the mutants coming up behind them. Daniels was dragging a particularly big mutant when he felt soft breath on his neck.

Whirling around with his shotgun, Daniels was lifted clean off of the ground by a daemon with purple skin and solid purple eyes that glimmered. She had a lobster claw in place of her right arm and she crushed his shotgun. She lifted his 300 lb frame like he weighed no more than an infant. The other Catachan couldn't get a clear shot and a fresh wave of mutants charged the barricade.

"Mm, what a big boy," purred the daemon running a finger down Daniels face. "I could just eat you up," said the daemon as she smiled and revealed teeth filed to needle sharp points.

"Frak off skank, you aren't my type," said Daniels trying to pull get his arm free to draw his fang.

"Tut, tut I don't like fowl language, especially from such a handsome man, but if you insist," said the daemon pulling Daniels towards her lips.

"Hey bitch!" The daemon looked to the sound of the voice and took a las bolt through the eye. It stumbled back hissing and shrieking, a viscous fluid leaving its eye. A revving chainsword took it full width across the chest and stomach and it ate hungrily through the daemons body as blood and bits of bone and flesh flew from the revving teeth. The chainsword whined as it ate through the body and it took on a strangled tone. The daemon fell in two pieces and its entrails spilled onto the hallway floor. Amy knelt down by its upper half.

"No one freks with my man but me. Get it bitch?" With that, Amy rammed the chainsword into the daemons face on full throttle and the daemons head disintegrated under the mono carbide teeth. Amy stood to her full height and turned to Daniels, purplish blue blood sticking to her uniform and face, chainsword resting across her shoulder. "Miss me?"she asked, a small smile on her face.

Gina was sitting against a bulkhead with whatever that slime stuff was in a semi-circle around her. It had followed her and boxed her in, but wouldn't come any closer. It was almost like it was keeping her here for something. She kept hearing something that sounded like singing and musical laughter and someone whispering her name, but there was no one around. She knew that it was warp craft, knew that the daemon was coming for her. It had caught her in the hallway once before and she had wept, but it had smiled like it was a game. It had let her go and told her that it would give her a five minute head start. Gina had ducked into vents, up ventilation shafts and gone through every nook and cranny that she could find. Still, only the automatic sealing of one of the void doors had spared her from being caught a second time. The daemon had just watched her from the other side of the view port with gold and purple eyes. She knew that the daemon knew where she was, knew that it was just toying with her.

Heavy footsteps sounded down the hallway with a pronounced squelch on every step. Gina drew her knees in tight to her chest and buried her head, just wanting this nightmare to be over. The heavy steps stopped right in front of her and she found that she couldn't stop shaking. She risked a peek and instead of purple feet, she saw black heavy guard issue combat boots. Following it up, she saw it was followed by a Death Korps uniform with a plethora of weapons on it. One of which was a monomolecular sword sheathed at the hip. He was staring down at her, silent as the grave. It was Numbers. Or was it? Was this some kind of trick? It had to be, no one could stand in that sludge and survive, it was death.

"Just make it quick please," said Gina burying her face into her legs again. She heard the boots take another step towards her, then rough flak armoured hands reach under her legs and behind her back, picking her up. When she wasn't immediately devoured, Gina looked up and saw the same impassive brass mask as before, except now it was much closer. He was holding her almost gingerly, as if afraid to hurt her. Despite the joy that it was indeed Numbers and not a daemon, Gina couldn't shake the feeling of unease and dread around him.

He carried her down the corridor without saying a word, heading for the elevators to the higher decks. Gina didn't know what to say or if she should say anything at all, so she just stayed silent. As they walked down the corridor, a feral wandered into the hallway. Grunting and huffing it walked drunkenly until it stopped midstep, the sludge doing it no more harm that it was doing to Numbers. It turned towards them with sightless eyes and let loose a terrible howl before rushing towards them down the hallway.

A feral was a twist who had degenerated and lost their mind. Unable to reason or think, they attacked anything they could find and ate anything they could get their claws on. Gina yelled at Numbers to move, but he just stood fast and seemed to be just calmly waiting for the feral to come to him. When it got close, Numbers kicked it into the wall and when it tried to rise crushed its head with a powerful kick. Then he just kept walking.

AN: Well I know that this is a crappy place to leave it, but it's like 4 in the morning and I still have a lot of stuff I need (want) to write for this and I promised that it would come out today. Some parts of this chapter I'm a little iffy on but for the most part I'm pleased with it. For those of you wondering, Erich will not be getting with your friendly neighbourhood mutant. I did this partly to show that he is changing (albeit slowly) and will go against what he believes to be right to help a friend, ie helping a mutant and partly to show that he still has a lot of that noble arrogance that the Korps just couldn't train out of him. So next time expect sword fights, a confrontation with a daemon, and Erich finally getting to actually be deployed. I was actually planning to finish the ship sequence in this chapter, but at 35k that doesn't look like it's happening any time soon. Any comments or suggestions let me know and let me know if the story is going too slow and I need to pick the pace up a bit. Well thanks for reading and please review.

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	4. Chapter 4 Daemons and Soldiers

**Daemons and Soldiers**

"So then, daemons is it? I though I had seen the last of their ilk when I cleared out the Tungustus hive world with my old 89th. It seems that these daemon chaps don't know when to quit do they now? Another sound thrashing seems to be in order to get the message across this time, wouldn't you agree Commissar?" Stanton was strapping on a clearly modified set of carapace armour of a crimson hue and gold trim work. It was modified in the way that it could now fit around his acquired paunch. He had an armoured pith hat on the table behind him as well as a worn, but well cared for chainsword on his belt ready for use. He shrugged into a great crimson greatcoat, full of gold tassel's, braid, and very fine thread-work. A holdover from his Praetorian days. Stanton had yet to adopt the characteristic black greatcoat and brass mask of the Korps, instead preferring to use his old wargear and equipment. The commissar in Osei saw it as a potential distancing act between the colonel and his guardsmen, but the pragmatist in his saw it as using the best equipment available to him.

For once, Stanton's hand was free of any form of drink and their was an good energy about him. A clean energy. His usually cheerfully dull brown eyes were bright and clear, dagger sharp and keen as an astartes blade. His movements were quick and precise, his bearing one of a man who was completely at ease and in control of his surroundings. His augmetic hand whirred and clacked as he checked it, then stuck large high calibre ammo drums to his belt for a weapon that was not present. He seemed as comfortable in his armour, as a man might feel in his old housecoat late at night, he was a man who was at ease with war and all its violence. His home was the battlefield and his bed one of thorns. He was maybe not a warrior born, but he was a warrior made by the Emperor and tempered by the guard, forged in the crucible of battle.

"Daemons are not something to be dismissed so casually colonel, and further to the point I have heard that it is mutants rebelling that is the problem. Obviously if it was a daemon incursion, especially while we were travelling in the warp the ship would have been torn apart a long time ago," said Osei, strapping on his own wargear. A simple bolt pistol and chainsword, the standard of the Imperial commissariat, but lacking the more protective carapace armour of the colonel. A knowing smile caused Stanton's moustache to raise like a curtain, revealing off-white teeth.

"Trust me Osei, it's daemons."

"If it were a daemon incursion, then we would already be dead colonel, you know that.."

"Trust me, it's daemons," said Stanton with such conviction and absolute certainty that Osei had trouble believing it to be anything else.

"The gellar field is still up colonel, the bridge has confirmed it, so it can't be daemons. No warp beast can make it past a gellar field and leave it intact. I've been on more than a few trips through the immaterium and I know for a fact that they can't get through the gellar field."

"Nothing in life is ever certain Commissar, save the Emperor. There is an exception to every rule, and this is a daemon infestation, mark my words."

"Well then Colonel, perhaps you would like to explain to me how you know what this is with such certainty?"

"Trust me, I know what it is."

"How? Do you have some information that you would like to share with me Colonel? A hidden little fact or text that you've been waiting to show me? Or is this just a guess?"

"I can feel it in my bones commissar. You feel that chill creeping into you? The tingling in your spine? The feeling of being watched? You can feel it, I can see it in your eyes that you do so please don't deny it. That feeling that things are just somehow off kilter, like you have a mild case of vertigo like you could just fall and keep falling forever? You think it's nerves so you pass it off as such, but believe me commissar, that is the last thing you want to do. Keep your guard up and don't trust anyone who seems just too... at ease with what's going on. Or seem to be acting strangely. I don't know how to explain it better than that so I trust you to use your impeccable judgement. If you have the slightest doubt about someone, even the mildest tingling of a suspicion about them, kill them. Do not hesitate Commissar, do not falter in your duty and do not ever go anywhere alone, even after the ship has called the all clear. I made that mistake once and it cost me dearly. It cost me so very dearly."

Osei had only heard Stanton this serious at their initial meeting in the viewing box. This was the soldier he saw in the old colonel fond of his drink. Sharp, experienced, and completely able to do whatever made victory or survival a possibility, without the usual suicidal bravery or stupidity that was so common for ones of his position. It was for this reason that Osei had spared him the bolt round, that single gleam that had been buried below the soft lush of an old man he often portrayed himself to be. For that gleam was diamond hard and unyielding and exactly what an officer needed. If only it would show more often.

"With respect Colonel, I can handle the duties of my office quite well. If the need arises I will be more than capable of doing what is necessary, as I expect you to be able to do Colonel."

"I know you can Osei, you're a fine commissar if a bit lenient." Osei had to raise a questioning eyebrow at that. Lenient? Just because he didn't put a bolt round into everyone's head who displeased him didn't make him lenient, it made him someone who thought with his head. It made him sensible.

"Well Colonel, if nothing else you seem quite certain of yourself in this matter, but I would hope that you don't repeat this in front anyone else, rumours running amok amongst the ships ranks will do nothing but undermine our efforts to stop whatever these freaks have to throw at us." As if to underline his words, a loud bang resounded from the blast door as if something very heavy had been thrown against it. It echoed down the hall before fading away in a final tremor.

"I prefer to let my men know what their fighting Commissar, makes them more prepared to face the enemy or death, possibly both. Don't want them to think that they're fighting soft bunny rabbits and have to go against a legion of traitor marines do we?"

"You're glibness does you no credit colonel, and it's not the Korpsmen I'm worried about getting cold feet. You risk inciting a panic amongst the naval crewman and perhaps even other guard regiments. Many in the navy ranks are technicians or noncombat positions and they are already looking like they're ready to flee."

"Mm, yes, the _navy_," said Stanton as if the very word tasted bitter in his mouth. "The one thing they fear the most and train for their entire careers to combat and they're powerless to stop it. Imagine if the guard was like that? I tell you the navy could use some training in proper soldiering, especially their armsmen. The _best_ of the naval security forces completely massacred in a matter of hours and the rest of the crew running around like headless chickens. Not even arms men, but the actual naval security getting mauled. If they had been stormtroopers or some of our grenadiers it would have been contained, but we'll be lucky to have more than spoons to fight back the archenemy now, but I suppose you're right. Panic is the one thing we can not afford right now, it will spread like wildfire if we're not careful."

"So I trust you will keep your suspicions to yourself?" asked Osei, his words punctuated by a loud bang and a muffled roar from somewhere in the hallway from a blast door. It was deep and guttural, like the sound of a man lost to pure inconsolable rage and grief, but much deeper and more bestial. Several naval arms men clicked off their safeties, only to be yelled at by their squad leaders to put them back on. They weren't fighting the enemy yet.

"Mm, I do suppose it would be bad form to worry the navy types wouldn't it Mr. Osei? I do so dislike to display bad form. Separates us from the beasts you see."

"Commissar, if you don't mind Colonel. I believe I still wear the hat and sash."

"Very good Mr. Commissar." Osei sighed in quiet frustration. He would be the alcoholic if he had to keep dealing with Stanton.

"I take it you aren't overly fond of our naval counterparts or the navy in general colonel?" said Osei prodding at Stantons obvious sore spot with clinical curiosity.

"You could say that Osei."

"Would you care to explain what that reason is?"

"I could, if I so chose."

"Allow me to rephrase, will you?"

"Now commissar we are about to go into battle, every second is precious and we can't waste it discussing such trivial things as my feelings towards the navy now can we? They'll do their job, however inept they may be at it, but then my regiment needs to be there to put the pieces back together and hold the line once they break; for they will break and when they do I need to have my men in proper position. So, if you'll excuse me I need to coordinate my men." Stanton made to leave, but Osei blocked his path.

"I need to know if it's going to be a problem colonel. I can't have you being a liability in the fight, especially if your suspicions are correct."

"Out of my way please commissar," said Stanton politely enough, but with an undertone of anger.

"I'm not asking colonel." Stantons hard eyes met Osei's own and for a moment neither moved, then with a frustrated sigh Stanton looked away.

"No it's not going to be an issue, not here at least, you have my word on that commissar. As an Imperial officer and as a servant of him on Terra, I will do my duty with no prejudice and with complete faith in those above and below me."

"Okay," said Osei stepping to the side and allowing Stanton to pass, then falling in step behind him. He would have to confront the issue at another point in time, but Stanton was right that they didn't have the time right now. Osei had known that Stanton had a dislike for the navy like most guard officers, but he didn't know that it was so venomous. Obviously there was a deep seated hatred that needed to be exercised and disposed of like a tumour. The rivalry between the navy and the guard was actively encouraged, if discreetly done, but once again hate would not do.

The reason that the rivalry was encouraged, was because high command wanted to make sure that the division between the guard and the navy stayed divisive. Too much damage had been done during the Horus Heresy when the two had been combined. The "Imperial Army," as it had been called had been an amalgamation of both the Imperial Guard and the Imperial Navy. They had been one and the same, with easy access to the others resources and special talents and abilities.

It allowed ships to carry regiments of guardsmen under the command of the ships Captain, and the guardsmen to control the awesome power of the star ships of the Imperium. It had worked beautifully for the Imperium, and equally well against it.

Planetary ground based defences could not defend themselves against an orbital bombardment, nor could walls stand against ship grade weaponry. It had been a blitzkrieg of Imperial worlds, all the way to holy Terra itself. A catalyst for traitor boots to tread upon the holiest of land in the whole of the galaxy, of the universe. The birthplace of the Emperor and humanity, the sacrilege was almost too much to bear.

So in the interest of taking the claws out of a lethal marriage, the Imperial Army was disbanded and the guard and navy replaced it. If a regiment turned traitor, it was stuck on world and unable to spread their vile teaching or heresy beyond the terrestrial soil. If a ship turned rogue, then it had no means to occupy or take ground on a planet. This division was needed to insure that if there was treachery from within, it would be limited even before it began.

So Stanton could dislike the navy and that would be okay, in fact it was the proper mindset for a guardsman. He could think that the guard was better than the navy and that would be okay, for it showed pride in the guard and professional rivalry. He could think that the navy never washed below the collar, that they thought of soap as some foreign substance that was almost religiously avoided and that would be okay; because it was not only funny, but showed thoughts of guard superiority. Hating the navy with such passion in the way he did, was not okay.

Blue emergency lighting put a soft glow on the assembled Kriegers and their colonel, while growling and scratching was heard faintly from down the hallway, the blast door was holding for now. It was almost deathly quiet amongst both the naval arms men and the Korps soldiers. No one was speaking, because everyone was focused on the coming battle and small talk about daily regimental life, seemed very unimportant when faced with imminent death.

The Korpsmen were armed with an odd assortment of improvised weapons, much of it appeared to be re-purposed cleaning tools. One particularly large Korpsman was wielding a straw headed broom like one would wield a quarter staff. Another had a bucket full of some harsh cleaning solution. It was almost comical that some of the Imperium's greatest soldiers were armed like the ships cleaning staff. It would have been the script out of a gag film had it not been for the incessant howling, baying, and otherwise unholy noises coming from the other side of the ubiquitous blast door that held the attention of every able bodied man. The captain of "Emperor's Emissary," didn't allow guardsmen to retain their weapons aboard his ship and now it was coming around to bite them squarely in the posterior. It would be hand to hand for the Kriegers, and instead of bayonets, trench maces, or sharpened shovels, it would quite literally be martial skill and whatever they could scrounge together. It would be the colonel and the commissar that would have to tackle anything too dangerous or heretical since they were the best armed. "Rank hath its privileges," thought Osei ruefully.

The naval arms men on the other hand were all clustered around barricades, in front of the blast doors, and riot shields. Riot gear, armoured void suits, combat body gloves, and good old fashioned sturdy flak armour adorned them. They looked tired and drawn out, like they had already been fighting long and hard and by the look of their armour and themselves they had been. They weren't exactly the picture of exalted Imperial defenders, but they were standing their ground and doing their duty. It probably helped that when fighting on board a ship there was literally nowhere to run to when things got bad. You were in a box and once in that box you had to make sure it stayed 'your' box. The fact that there was nowhere to run on a ship, made things easier. Less chance of your troops breaking and running.

Osei didn't much enjoy the thought of executing guardsmen or naval armsmen for cowardice, but it was an inevitability. What Stanton had said was true, Osei did feel something in his bones that cried out the unholiness of his surroundings. That creatures that were better left to children's tales, were coming for his soul and no amount of hiding under the covers would ever change that. He would stand firm though, in the face of all adversity. His father had been a commissar, and his father before him had been a commissar, all the way to the first of the Osei line. They had never run, never broken, never even once faltered in their duty. Osei felt the eyes of his ancestors upon him and touched the space in between his two viewing eyes, where his 'seeing' eye was.

To most, it was a gesture of frustration, but for Osei it calmed him and allowed him to think clearly. A passing acquaintance from the adeptus biologis had told him that it was simply a psychological trick and held no actual spiritual connection, but Osei wasn't about to throw away his long family culture at the behest of an adept of Mars. His seeing eye was spiritual instead of physical and helped him find balance between his physical self and his spiritual self. Osei was not embarrassed by his culture, rather he embraced it. His father had taught it to him before his death and it had just stuck. It was a much more benign ritual, than tearing a chunk of bone out of your dead to carry the soul in that shard. Grisly to be sure, but it was not his place to judge their world any more than it was their place to judge his.

Osei watched Stanton overturn an empty mop bucket and stand on it before the Korpsmen like some ecclesiarchial preacher, or some prophet of the end times. There was never a shortage of those, no matter what world you were on.

"Vaunted Korpsmen of the 12th heavy siege regiment," began Stanton like an ecclesiarchial preacher giving a particularly inspiring sermon. Only a small number would be able to hear him, the majority spread out over a dozen other blast doors and many other service entryways throughout the deck. "I know that this is your first real engagement with the foes of the Imperium and I find myself unable to keep myself from laughing. The reason that I can't stop laughing is that our foes have absolutely no chance against such fine soldiers of the Emperor might that stand before me! You, are his hammer, you are his will, and you will be his divine judgement! Fear not the enemy, for their cause is hollow and faith flawed. They will shatter and be scattered to the four winds by the blows of our divine fury. Fear not the coming battle, for the Emperor is with you every step of the way. He is our guardian and our benefactor, we are merely the stewards for his glorious Imperium of Mankind. Fear not the cold touch of death, for the Emperor has reserved a special place at his side for the Korpsmen of the 12th heavy siege regiment next to Jurgen himself. Let them come, so they can see that the warriors of mankind will always cast them back into the abyss from whence they came. Show them Imperial Valour men, show them the might of the Emperor. Don't disappoint him lads, the Emperor is counting on you from his holy throne of Terra! Show these treacherous filth the strength of the Imperial Guard! Ave Imperator!"

"Ave Imperator," chorused back the Korpsmen in a seemingly less than enthusiastic tone making the sign of the aquilla. Stanton knew better though, he could see the fire he had lit inside of them, the added will they had received. They were eager to fight now, to smite the Emperor's enemies. They gripped whatever makeshift weapons they had more surely. They looked like lethal flak clad predators, ready at a moments notice to strike. They would do him proud.

Kriegers were a strange lot, never calling out battle hymns, their death cries quieted or silenced completely by the masks they wore, and if one were to look at ones face, it may as well have been carved of granite. They seldom lost sleep after battle, even after taking a life or watching their closest comrades die. Death to them was simply the inevitability of life, what each of them would face one day and what could come to them at any time. Fear was trained out of them, beaten out of them, bred out of them. Not to say they didn't feel loss at the death of a comrade or family member, that nothing could faze them, just that they were more prepared to deal with it and could do it quickly. They would never be what many considered in a "right" state of mind, but they would be in the Krieg state of mind. As hope crushing and fatalistic as it was, it made them able to face their foes with steely conviction and hold the line. No Krieg regiment had ever broken and run, staying to the last even after all hope had long since fled.

Still, Kreigers were human and capable of human frailty. Cowardice, dereliction of duty, desertion, treason, taint, it happened as it did to all in the Imperium. Underneath the thick radiation proof armour and airtight seals, with an even tighter sealed minds, was a person. They hid it, buried it, but they could not erase it. They had turned themselves into as close to a living weapon as a person could manage without being a machine, but they were still human and in need of inspiration and guidance.

Another resounding bang echoed from the blast door farther down the hall, a dent appearing almost impossibly in the thick metal. Stanton didn't need to look at the Korpsmen to know that every eye was on that door, waiting for the chance to prove their worth. It would be a good fight.

A tall, emaciated figure with sores and several deformities ranging from benign to repulsive was shuffling back and forth, grunting and making odd guttural noises. It was dressed in rags, shreds of clothing and it hung in dirty, stained strips off of its desiccated frame. Sunken pink eyes glared with animal hatred at anything they fell on. What teeth it had left were yellow or black with decay and rot. Its eyes almost seemed to glow with a malevolent light. A light rasp caught its attention and its head snapped up toward the source of the sound. It was completely still for a moment, not even breathing. Then as if some primal instinct had given it a command, it began a shambling run towards the source of the noise, its webbed feet making a pronounced slapping sound on the bare metal of the deck.

Its sores left wet streaks of pus on the floor as it moved and it slobbered and drooled from a mouth that was opening and closing to a clacking of broken teeth. Fresh flesh still caught in its teeth from an unfortunate technician who had tried to fight it off. His finger was currently halfway through the things small intestine, his signet ring would be the only other thing to emerge in addition to fragments of bone and excrement.

It rounded the corner of the hallway huffing, with a clawed hand raised, ready to strike. The sound of rending flesh was heard, followed by a shrill howl of pain.

With a flick of his wrist Erich freed his acquired sword from the gurgling mutant, the mono edged blade passing through the body with little to no resistance. The mutant stood there, its crazed brain unable to comprehend what had just happened. With a casual backhand swing, Erich beheaded the mutant. He wiped both edges clean and sheathed the blade. It was a hacking weapon of about 2-3 feet in length and in Erich's opinion, poorly balanced.

It was a low to mid quality blade that was mass produced for ship to ship combat. Its really only redeeming feature was that it was mono edged. It was still dastardly sharp, and if he wasn't careful, Erich could end up losing a limb, but for the most part it was basic. Cheap polymer grip, moderately good plas steel, and okay balance. No doubt sufficient for an average swordsman who relied more on hard round weapons, but it just wasn't a great sword.

A good Krieg mono on the other hand, would be a sword worth hanging onto. They were made of sterner stuff, and Krieg was very, very good at making steel. Anything made on Krieg for war was a masterpiece, because they were a culture devoted to war and only perfection would do. Killing was not just an art, but a science and like any science it had to be perfected. When to attack, when to retreat, when to cause a diversion, where to fight, when to commit yourself completely, and when to bide your time. The song of war was the cadence of combat boots, the chorus was the rumble of artillery, and the voice was the cry of a million men charging across charging across a cratered and bloody field. War was as eternal as the universe itself, it was only right to perfect it.

Erich suddenly found himself longing for one of his family's mono edged swords. They had many and were exquisitely made. They were quiet, subtle, and perfectly balanced. One of them would have been much better than this mass produced piece of navy scrap. His father would have scoffed at such a blade as the one on his hip.

In all actuality, Erich would have preferred to simply gun the mutant down with a well placed buckshot, but that would make too much noise and attract many more mutants; more likely daemons if he was right about what was going on, but so long as they didn't make too much noise they would remain more or less safe. Being an untouchable helped, but Erich couldn't just tear off his bracelet and strut around the ship while they were in the warp. To do so would not only risk rousing the ire of fellow Imperial soldiers, but also blind the navigator. The survival of the ship depended on the navigators ability to traverse the currents of the warp and if the navigator couldn't see they would be dashed against waves of raw emotions. Not a pleasant fate, especially if what he had been taught was true. His untouchable soul may be safe though, a rock adrift a maelstrom of madness. But the real question was, "would his soul remain untouchable after death?" At most times, Erich sincerely hoped that it would not. At this time though, he was hoping that it would be so that if he did die, he wouldn't have to go through an eternity of suffering. The sounds of someone being sick distracted Erichs thoughts as he looked around the corner to check if the coast was clear.

Looking back, Gina was wiping bile from her mouth, having long ago emptied whatever had been in her stomach. The first time had been when they had come across a body so badly mangled that it was impossible to tell who or what it had been, simply a mangled pile of flesh. The worst part being was that it wasn't even dead, some foul sorcery or demented surgical skill had kept the poor wretch alive. Erich had ended the mangled Imperials suffering, hoping him a speedy journey to the Emperor's side once they reached real space again.

From there they had seen bodies and... things that had made even Erich blanch beneath his mask. He had still killed it easily enough, but his wildest imaginings couldn't even begin to compare to the beasts of chaos. If he took the worst he could think of, mix it with the worst deeds of a psychotic killer, then bath it in the ravings of a thousand mad-men, it wouldn't even be able to describe what chaos could be. The human mind just couldn't comprehend it, just had to shut it out and keep on fighting. His Korps training was allowing him to do just that, but he didn't know what he would do if he had to fight a daemon. Would he fight? Would he stand a chance? Could he fight it? On an intellectual level, Erich new that he was better suited than most to face a daemon being an untouchable, but how could anyone be prepared to fight a nightmare?

People boasted and they bragged, everyone's a bad-ass in the barracks. Erich had never cared much for that sort of thing. He had his doubts about what he could do, but he had sworn before the Emperor that he would never shrink from his duty. Even if he died hopelessly outmatched, he would stand and he would fight. That Erich knew with a certainty that he could do if push came to shove.

With a flick of his wrist, Erich cleaned his sword of blood, the diseased substance spattering on the floor. It was a vile, wretched thing the mutant. Discoloured, disfigured, with the appearance of raw flesh and muscle instead of healthy skin. Pustules and boils were present, no doubt as a result from its squalid living and poor hygiene. Even beasts looked after themselves, a task that was seemingly beyond a mutant. He sheathed the blade and unslung his shotgun, just in case he had to deal with something a little bigger than some mindless mutant. Erich set a brisk, but measured pace down the passageway, shotgun scanning and searching for any sign of mutant activity or otherwise.

The shotgun itself, was a dependable piece of machinery. It was a pump action Brumudian pattern with a fifteen round internal magazine. It seemed similar to the Krieg sturm shot, but Erich wasn't sure if it could be ram fired or not. It would be best to assume that it could not be and leave it at that. The field was not a time to experiment with weaponry to find out what it was capable of.

The walls here were again streaked with weapons fire and blood, but thankfully clear of that daemonic substance from earlier. From the looks of things, the navy had really dug their heels in and fought here. It didn't look like it had lasted particularly long, but there were literally thousands of brass casing littering the floor from assault stub weapons favoured by the navy. Usually the navy preferred case less stubbers, but it always seemed to depend on where the ship was from and what the captain wanted. What worried Erich about the amount of spent rounds, was that whatever had been fighting the armsmen had caused them to empty their weapons as quickly as they could empty their mags and reload. Discarded magazines and shell casings marked the retreat of the naval armsmen as they had fought whatever creature or creatures that had assailed them. Whatever it had been, had caused them to commit to a desperate last stand that had literally only given enough time to reload and keep firing as their foe had advanced upon them relentlessly. They hadn't even had the time to stow the spent magazines. They had died a good death. The semantics of pain notwithstanding, they had died fighting for the Emperor and their fellow soldiers. Erich could respect that. It didn't matter how well you fought, as long as you had the courage to stand and fight and did so.

Erich put his hand to a gash in the wall and traced it with his hand. It had been made with a serrated, half crescent weapon with enormous force behind it. The weapon had been sharp, but not overly so. The cut was too messy for a mono edged weapon. Erich had a very good idea of what made this gouge and was none too keen to meet the creator of it. Erich clutched his shotgun more firmly to quell the incessant tremor in his his hands. Too much adrenaline, too little action. Often anticipation was worse than the actual act of the engagement. If he got too much excess adrenaline, he would begin to shiver, a neat little fact he had been taught in training. They had been taught that if they could handle the jitters they got before an operation, their training would carry them through the day. Then again, maybe the engagement would be far worse in this case.

The hallway was almost entirely dark, with the exception of a few scattered blue emergency lights that would occasionally flicker, but for the most part were either shattered by weapons fire or simply nonfunctional. It painted the everything it an eerie half blue light, and cast thing in strange shades. The Night capabilities of Erichs mask were good, but he had no way of knowing how long he would be cutoff and he had no spare batteries, so he refrained from activating it. His eyesight was good enough as it was in the dark.

It was very easy to hear in the eerily deserted corridor, the only real noise pollution was the rattle of an exposed heating duct above them.

The soft patter of feet behind him, assured Erich that the mutant Gina was following him. Why he had saved a mutant was beyond him, if anything he should have expedited her demise. Her. Why did he still think of the mutant as a person? The Imperial Creed was quite clear on such matters and yet he had still helped. Was there a taint upon him? It was impossible he knew, as he was an untouchable, but he could think of no valid reason as to why he had helped a mutant.

"Numbers, do you have any water?" asked Gina tentatively. Erich looked back at her with his apathetic Death Korps mask and handed her a canteen of water from his webbing.

"Don't put you lips on it," he instructed curtly, wary of sharing the same water as that of a mutant.

"I wasn't going to," said Gina quietly, pouring a small amount of water on to either side of her neck.

Erich felt revulsion at the act, knowing that the drinking water was being applied to a mutation to keep it healthy. It went against every fibre of his being to allow it to continue, but he still felt a loyalty to Gina that hadn't fully dissipated yet. Perhaps in time it would, or he would come to his senses and realize what he was doing.

Erich found that he was in a curious mood. Ever since his near death, a part of him had reasserted itself to the fore. He found himself analyzing things and people as if he were in a morals and ethics class instead of as a Korpsman. He was slowly getting his Korps edge back, but it was coming back slowly.

Erich grabbed the canteen back roughly from Gina and secured it to his belt, oblivious to her noise of protest.

"Keep up," said Erich, once again shouldering his shotgun. "We need to use our resources sparingly in the future, frivolous uses should be avoided."

"What does frivolous mean?" asked Gina as if embarrassed.

"Not having any serious purpose or value," answered Erich promptly, like someone tired of answering stupid questions to which the answers were obvious.

"It wasn't frivolous," said Gina, an angry edge creeping into her voice.

"It wasn't an unnecessary use then? I was not aware that your mutation needs to drink too."

"How about the fact that I'll die if it doesn't? Is that a frivolous use too? Is me dying frivolous?"

"It's for a mutation."

"It's so I don't die."

Erich felt the two purple spheres burn holes into him. It was strange when he talked to Gina like this. She seemed so very human when she did it, especially her determination. So far from the scared creature he had met two months ago. No longer did she shy away from arguments, but stood her ground and argued straight back. It was almost admirable.

Not wishing to debate the matter anymore, Erich once again sighted down the length of his liberated shotgun and continued down the brass littered hall. Despite his best efforts, Erich disturbed the shells as he walked, causing them to roll and clink off of each other. He cringed internally every time a shell bounced off one of its fellows. Even something as thick as a mutant would be able to determine where they were from the noise.

Erich stopped abruptly and held up a closed fist, signalling Gina to stop.

"What is it?"

"Quiet," said Erich annoyed at her lack of noise discipline. If Gina had even been a naval ensign or rating she would have understood the need to be quiet in a combat situation. Perhaps in time she would rise to be a rating or ensign within the navy, it wasn't unheard of for-again with these thoughts. Why did he keep thinking that she was normal and not a mutant?

The sound grabbed Erich's attention again and steadied his grip on his shotgun again. It was like an insect or a rodent skittering around on a tile floor. Little hard points clicking and clacking on the toughened surface. It would start and stop, almost without reason. Erich didn't know where it was coming from, but he did know one thing. It was getting louder.

"What is that sound?" asked Gina finally hearing the skittering noise.

Erich didn't answer her, but started taking slow, measured, and precise steps backwards, keeping his shotgun aimed ahead of him. His finger was resting lightly on the trigger and he felt his heart rate pick up before he calmed himself. Using breathing and mental techniques, Erich began clearing his mind of all distractions to ready him for combat.

"What is it?" asked Gina again.

"Be very quiet, and move very carefully," said Erich not looking back at her. His eyes moving, searching constantly beneath his mask, looking for anything that resembled a threat. He remembered his experiences in the hive from the Old World. Your instincts would tell you when something was wrong and it was folly to ignore them. You weren't being superstitious or foolish when you felt a prickle of fear for no reason. Fear was your bodies warning system, its way of protecting itself from harm or danger. Krieg taught its sons to overcome fear, but not ignore it. Why dismiss your early warning system? It had kept mankind alive since the day it crawled out of the primordial muck on ancient Terra, and it kept them alive still.

"It's getting louder," said Gina nervously.

"I said to be quiet," hissed Erich.

"We need to run, there's a maintenance hatch not to far from here that we can duck into. They run all over the ship and we can move through them. It's tight and there might be some other mutants in there, but they can't sneak up on us."

"I said be quiet! I can't hear where it is when you keep talking," said Erich, finally snapping at her.

"I don't hear it anymore," said Gina. The ticking had indeed stopped and the worst part was that Erich didn't know when it had. He had no idea how close the creature that was stalking them could be.

Erich studied the hall in front of him, and realized something about it with mounting horror. While many of the rounds had peppered the walls, the majority of them had been directed upwards at the roof, fired in all directions. Erich looked up.

A glittering pair of glowing green eyes were staring back at him. Even as his brain froze in shock and his heart skipped a beat, his hands instinctively brought the shotgun around towards the mutant. He almost brought it around in time.

Several things happened simultaneously in those few seconds. The first was the discharge of a naval issue shotgun, the second was Gina screaming, and the third was Erich being pulled headfirst into the heating duct.

Erich dropped his shotgun as he was grabbed and he was having trouble fighting off his assailant in the disorientating ascent into the heating ducts. The thing had hands, but it also had chitinous legs like those of a spider. Erich braced His knees at the opening to the duct, but the thing was deadly strong. Erich's knees indented the thin metal, before the mutant thing overcame his strength and pulled him inside completely.

Erich fumbled for the pistol at his side, but was knocked back as the thing tried to sink a pair of fangs into his face. His head was knocked back and it hurt his neck, but he was spared serious injury by the brass mask covering his face. Erich violently wrenched his head to the side while bracing his hands on the creatures face, breaking its fangs off in his mask.

A screech of pain was his reward followed by Erich being slammed into the side of the vent and being pulled completely inside. Erich had the creature directly over top of him and it was pinning him down. It raised a particularly sharp looking pincer as much as it could above his chest. As fate would have it though, the flechettes from the shotgun had further weakened the already damaged duct, and the metal beneath Erich gave way with a groan of protest.

The fall was short and terrifying so it was almost a relief when he hit the floor with the mutant over top of him. The mutant was regaining its footing when Erich managed to get his autopistol out. He thumbed the selector all the way to automatic then rammed the pistol against the underside of the mutant and held down the trigger.

In a one second automatic burp 20 high expansion, low penetration man stoppers were put into the mutant, shredding its internal organs and creating a yawning gap from front to back that poured out a substance that resembled blood mixed with ichor. The mutant gave out a last keening shriek, before falling down on top of Erich.

Erich let out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. It had been a good thing that he had had a pistol on him. Erich didn't want to think of what the outcome would have been had he not picked one up.

With a grunt, Erich began rolling the mutant off of him. It was suddenly made easier when another pair of hands began pushing as well. With a thunk, followed by a wet slap, the dead mutant was rolled into a heap beside him.

"Are, are you okay?" Erich realized that it was Gina who was talking. He was actually quite surprised that she was still around. He had fully expected her to cut and run when the mutant had attacked him, but instead she was there, with his shotgun on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," said Erich rising to his feet, but having to steady himself on the nearest wall as a wave of dizziness came over him. His neck still hurt, and with the force that his head had been hit, he might be mildly concussed.

"I tried to shoot it," said Gina, "but the gun wouldn't work."

"The shotgun works just fine, you just didn't work the action properly."

"I tried, I'm telling you that the gun doesn't work," snapped Gina, holding out the gun for inspection.

Erich held out the gun so it could be clearly and easily seen, before slowly and with exaggerated motions worked the action. He pumped the action back, letting the spent cartridge fall out, then moved it forward so the fresh one was put into place. He then put a round into the mutants corpse, to both make sure it was dead and demonstrate that the gun worked.

"Well would you imagine that? The gun still works," said Erich mockingly, loading a new round into the chamber.

"I tried to help, you don't need to be so damned mean about it," said Gina, her jaw set.

"Mean?" said Erich incredulous. "I was nearly eaten alive, due in no small part to your lack of help. So while I nearly died, you just sat here and watched like it was a form of entertainment. So if I appear mean, I am sorry if my agitation over nearly dying is affecting my attitude and cordial manners. So, If I _am_ being so very mean, how about you actually shoot at the thing that's trying to kill us instead of making me do all the work of protecting your worthless life? Or am I asking too much from a mutant?"

Erich could see the hurt on Gina's face and saw her lip quiver.

"My life isn't worthless," choked out Gina. "I'm trying the best I can, I don't know how to fight and I'm scared. Yeah, I'll admit it, I'm terrified of this, of that thing over there, and you. I'm not a guardsman alright? I can't keep doing this. You scare me, but the thing is, is that I'm more scared of what's out there than I am of you. I just want this nightmare to be over," sobbed Gina.

Erich stood awkwardly as Gina began to cry, unsure of what to do. Perhaps he had been too harsh. It didn't really surprise him that Gina was scared of him, but it still stung a little to hear it. A part of him felt justified at putting a mutant in its place, but another did its best to feel shame. His code of honour and duty to the Emperor put many things into black and white perspectives, so what did he do in a grey area?

"I apologize, and I am sorry for my words. They were unkind," said Erich finally. He was not good with apologies, they always felt like they were merely given in hindsight to someone to avoid hurt feelings. Sometimes it was deserved, like using a tool and it breaking from use. That blame was then upon the person who used the tool whether correctly or incorrectly and it made sense. Nevertheless, this apology felt needed.

"No you're not," said Gina wiping at her lilac coloured eyes.

"Well at any rate, we need to get moving. No doubt more mutants, or worse will soon be upon us. We'll stay in the maintenance access ways until its safe to move on further. With any luck they will be free of any more mutants."

"Aren't you by a mutant now? Shouldn't you just leave me behind if I'm such a burden? I'm tired of walking anyways, I quit."

"Quit?" asked Erich, as if the very idea was foreign to him.

"Give up, let go, stop trying. I don't have any of your educated words for it, but I'm done. I don't care anymore. I'll just go to sleep and hopefully it'll end before I wake up."

"It's a sin to give up," said Erich in disbelief that someone would stop fighting for their life. "The Emperor looks down on those who throw away his gift of life."

"I'm already an abomination aren't I? By your words, I'm a mutant and purge the xeno, the witch, and the mutant right? The Emperor doesn't want me. He probably never did anyways, who am I kidding?"

"The Emperor wants all those who are faithful. There are plenty abhumans who stand by his side awaiting for the end of days battle. Those who shield themselves in faith and arm themselves with hate and righteousness will always have a place by the Emperor's side."

Gina had taken a seat against the bulkhead and drew her knees to her chest, with her behind. Her snow white bangs hid her down turned eyes and she didn't say a word. Erich tried to raise her to her feet, but she would just sink back down again. Erich knew how to do many things, but how to deal with someone who had given up was not one of them.

Erich stood a vigil for what couldn't have been more than five minutes, watching both sides of the corridor and now the roof. He mostly spent the time dislodging the fangs from his mask, but to no avail. There were countless hatches and rooms scattered around, but most were either shut tight or else obviously empty, so they were safe for the immediate moment, but that could and no doubt would change very shortly. They had to keep moving, but he couldn't both carry Gina and defend them if something like that mutant came after them again. When Erich did hear the sound of something approaching, it was not a skittering, or a shuffling, or even baying or howling. Nor in any way was it threatening, but it was that lack of threat that worried him to his core. They had to leave NOW. Erich heard singing.

It came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. One moment it seemed like they were in a cavernous room, with the voice bouncing and rebounding around, the next, it would seem like it was being sung with the singers lips right next to his ear. It was a feminine voice and Erich's heart pounded with a mixture of adrenaline and fear.

The singing was beautiful, wonderful even, but with an undercurrnet of both hate and the darkest of desires in it. Erich shuddered to think how it would be affecting him were he not an untouchable. What would this witchcraft do to one who wasn't protected from the warp?

"We need to leave," said Erich shaking Gina. She looked up with blank eyes, like some kind of doll with glazed eyes and stood. Her eyes were lidded and unfocused and they didn't even seem to register the movement of Erich's hand in front of her face. Then she began walking. It was slow, but methodical, with an assurance only afforded to the most devout of pilgrims approaching a saint. Erich grabbed her hand to stop her, but she kept pulling, eventually putting in every amount of strength that her small body could muster to pull away. If Erich held on much longer, he would risk hurting her. When he let go, Gina stumbled forward a step, then resumed her steady steps.

Out of options, Erich tore off his glove and grabbed her wrist. Almost like an electric jolt had passed through her, Gina jumped and looked back at him angrily, but her eyes were clear and focused now.

"Let go of me. I said let go Emperor damn you!" Gina pulled with more anger than when she had not been in his null field, as if his touch was suddenly very unwelcome and unnerving.

"Do you hear it?" asked Erich very calmly.

Gina's face slowly changed from one of anger to surprise, then absolute terror.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, oh God Emperor no. Please no, not like this! I didn't mean it, I don't want to die, I don't wanna die like this. I don't want to be taken by a daemon, God Emperor help me, oh for all that's holy help me." She began trying to pull away and run, this time in terror.

"Let go of me, let go!"

"You'll be safer with me than you will be with anyone else, I guarantee that."

"It's a daemon, you can't keep me safe from a daemon, no one can."

"Let's just say that I'm an exception to that maxim." Gina stopped and stared at him in a way that Erich knew wasn't going to be good.

"You're one of them aren't you? That's why your touch feels so unnatural isn't it? You're not really Numbers are you? There should have been no way that you could walk on that sludge, only the possessed and the daemons could do that. Let go, you're one of them aren't you? Let go!"

"I am the same as I always was, you need to trus-"

"Show me your face, show me your face, show me your face!" raved Gina, actually shouting now.

Not knowing what else to do, but knowing that she needed to be quiet, Erich ripped his mask from his face in one deft gesture. When Gina stopped yelling, Erich took a risk.

"My name is Erich von Shreider of the von Shreider family, one of the 22 noble houses on Krieg and the second most powerful. The reason that I can keep you safe from daemons is the very same reason that my mother was so against me joining the Korps. I am an untouchable, my very presence will negate the warp. That is why my touch is so unnatural and why you feel so ill at ease with my presence now. My limiter keeps my null in check, except for direct contact. I will have to release some of my potential now, but it will keep you safe. Now just as I hold your life in my hands, you hold mine in yours. This is the biggest gesture of faith I can give you and I do not to it lightly."

"How do I know that you're not lying?" asked Gina suspiciously.

"Do you remember getting up?"

"No, I, I don't. Oh Throne, she was in my mind wasn't she?"

"Who?"

"The daemon." Erich was silent for a moment.

"You're sure that it was a female?"

"Yes, but can we please go now? She's coming and she made this into a game. I want to live now, so let's go. Come on," said Gina gesturing after Erich had released enough of his limiter to create a fairly large area of null. The singing had stopped, but Erich knew it was only a matter of time before the daemon was in striking distance. His null would blot them from her unholy sight, but she had other unnatural means which she could use to track them.

"Are you a virgin Gina?" asked Erich suddenly.

"W-what? What does it matter? What the hell kind of question is that? We need to leave."

"Answer the question Gina," said Erich sternly.

"Well, yes I guess I am, now we need to go please. I don't want to be here, let's go I don't care where, just away from here."

"Alright, stay close and I'll keep whatever is pursuing you at bay." Erich levelled his shotgun and began set a light trot back down the way they had come, glancing into every open duct or room as they passed. It was useless to try and move silently, as Erich's heavy Korps issued boots thudded spectacularly every time they struck the ground deck plating. Steel toed, radiation resistant, armoured, acid resistant, and comfortable they may be, but they were anything but silent.

So now at least Erich new why the daemon wanted to get Gina. It was female, so in all likelihood it was a Slanneshi daemon. Erich's tutor session had taught him much forbidden lore that he would never even hint at knowing for fear of what would happen if it was discovered that he knew it. Daemonnettes were by and by solely loyal to the dark god Slannesh. Most of their summonings, or daemon summonings in general required death and destruction on a massive scale to bring them across the veil to the materium. The Slanneshi ones also depended far more on sexual acts to quicken their arrival and guessing by Gina's form of dress, there was no lack of that.

Still though, it should not have even been nearly enough to bring even the lowliest daemon through. There wasn't enough power for that, the only way they could do that was, as an apparition. A shadow of their true power, a projection of what they were. A piece carved off from the whole sent to do its masters bidding. A puppet on a string if you will. It was temporary and short lived, lasting for usually only a day and needing to be fuelled by constant death and acts of depravity. They were here, but they were not at the same time.

It made a twisted sort of sense for it to work in the immaterium with the powers of the warp acting more strongly here than in the real world. One sacrifice could count for a dozen, or a hundred here and it wouldn't take much. The daemons then sent apparitions of themselves through, or the very weakest of their kin through to cause mayhem and destruction. It didn't matter who died, or what happened as long as it did.

The Slanneshi rituals were most potent when they involved virgins in their dealings. Unsullied by primal acts, they allowed the easiest sort of host for a daemonnette, though the hardest to have for a virgin in a Slanneshi cult was as likely as a mole afraid to dig. It was specific in the way it worked though, as female virgins were preferable to male. Erich had had it explained it to him as a greater act of purity or some such for a women to remain virginal than a male. It also had something to do with women being more psychically in tune with the warp than a male was. Much of it had paganistic roots involved, but the generally accepted idea behind it was that since women had the capability to carry and nurture life in side of them, they were more open to the warp and the realm of souls.

It was a sordid and unholy affair, but if it succeeded it would allow a greater daemon a foothold into the materium. It all made sense now. No force of this size, supported by only the barest traces of sorcery could hope to take a ship like the _Emperor's Emissary_ in just a day. If they hadn't taken over the gellar field, then they weren't concerned with destroying the ship. Everything here was serving a greater mistress, a daemon of Slannesh who wanted a foothold in the world. The attack was going to fail and when it did, the daemons would be purged and when the ship next made port, the host would jump ship and be free to do as it willed.

That was why it was after Gina, she was a virgin and the perfect host for a daemon. No one would ever miss a mutant and it would be all too easy for one to slip away. Add to that the fact that Gina's mutation was more benign and you had the ideal host. A high collar or scarf would be all that was needed to hide the mutation and then she could easily pass as human on casual inspection. Now the question was if Erich could keep the daemon away from her, but failing that kill her to prevent the daemon from getting it. Could he do it? A part of him, the hard unrelenting part, knew that he would do whatever it took to prevent a calamity, no matter the cost. One life to save a thousand, perhaps a million. The choice was clear, but it didn't make it any easier.

Erich got to the next intersection, with his back to the bulkhead, with a gesture to wait he popped his head around the corner taking a quick look then sprang into the intersection swinging his shotgun first one way, then the other. Hearing movement from a room with the door ajar, he kicked it open. A rat scurried away from the sudden intrusion, the only human occupant was a naval armsman in riot gear slumped over in death against the bulkhead facing the door. By his hand was a navy issue assault stub rifle and in front of him a cluster of dead mutants.

The armsman had been wounded and then sought shelter in the closest room available to make his last stand. The room was a break room with a few padded chairs and some tables. It looked in disarray, with evidence of the former occupants having been ambushed by daemonic foes, then used again to ambush the mutants. The lock hadn't held as it was not an airlock or blast door, but the armsman had put himself in a good position and reaped a grisly harvest. Erich bowed his head in respect for the armsman briefly, but quickly left the room. When he went back around the corner to Gina, he came face to face with a daemon.

Gina watched as Erich sprang into the four way intersection, then went off to the left. She didn't like being left alone, especially not with _her_ after her. It was a game to that thing, this whole thing was just for its amusement. It had already caught her, held her in its grasp, then let her go because it wanted to keep chasing her. It was so sure of its victory, so Emperor damned sure that it would win that it had just let her go and laughed, Saying the she hoped that Gina was harder to catch this time around. Harder to catch, like all of her efforts had been a pointless act.

Gina felt the "bubble" or whatever it was around her when Erich had reduced his limiter. It chafed at her in a way that she couldn't really describe. It irritated her and made her temper easier to flare up. It was like she had had a bad day and now everything just made her far more angry then she should be. She already felt tired and drained in addition to her crippling fear, but now it was like everything had gotten worse and Erich just seemed even more damned arrogant and snide. More than when he had even insulted her and called her worthless.

Even despite her feeling of dislike for him, she wanted him to hurry back so that they could keep moving. He could fight and on more than one occasion had saved them both from encounters that Gina knew would have killed her. Just a few minutes ago, he had been nearly killed by Legs who had turned feral about one standard year ago. He hadn't screamed, hadn't even seemed afraid, just irritated and frustrated at having been caught unawares and almost killed. He had kept moving like it had never even happened. Who could do something like that? What kind of person had such disregard for death?

Gina though she saw something move out of the corner of her eye, but it was nothing. She was getting very tired and the only thing keeping her awake right now was fear of what would happen if she did fall asleep. If she ever did come down and relax, she would have a damned hard time staying awake. She had already been awake doing hard labour for 12 hours before Grubb's party. Now if she was any judge of time, it had almost been a full cycle since then and the soft blue emergency lighting wasn't doing her any favours.

It smelled of death here now, death and things that were vaguely familiar, but at the same time completely foreign. Like regular things had been tainted or changed subtly. To look at things, it was almost as if they moved slightly, like someone trying to play dead and breathe shallowly. The walls were the worst offenders, but they weren't doing it near Gina, but they had been before this coarse bubble of null had been put over her. Just feeling it still made her want to scream, stamp her feet and curse. Like she just had a sudden inexplicable urge to yell. Like someone had thrown a rough woollen blanket over her head and was rubbing it so that it scratched and pulled at her.

With a noticeable shift, Gina felt the "bubble" that Erich had cast around her disappear. It felt as if a thick, chafing, and stifling blank had been lifted off of her and with it, a measure of her irritation and a dullness of her mind. Though with the freedom of though also came anxiety. Wasn't it because that the, null was it called? As long as it was active it was what kept her safe from daemons?

Maybe she should move closer so she was in the "bubble" again anyways. Even if it was uncomfortable, it was much better than having to face a daemon, especially _that _one. Gina sighed and watched her breath frost and form in front of her.

"Tired of running already pet?"

Gina whirled around, eyes wide in fear to see a woman, no a daemon standing at the far end of the hall. It had deep purple skin and hair the colour of darkest ebony. Its eyes glowed a bright purple in the gloom of the hallway. It started walking towards her and as the daemon walked past each set of emergency lights they buzzed angrily before bursting in a brief shower of sparks that would briefly illuminate the daemon completely. She was terrifying. A kind of feral beauty, but subtly wrong. Every stride, every sway, every movement seemed to be for seduction. She was also flawless, not a blemish or scar in sight. No malformed limbs, no moles, no disproportional body type, it was as if she was crafted to be perfect at what she did and in a way she was.

"Just as well though, the time we have to play is almost at an end anyways. It has been fun though, I must admit. Tell me though, how is it that you disappeared for a time from my vision? Not even just hard to see, but gone. Like you had suddenly drawn the clouds across the sky and blotted out the sun? I have so rarely been intrigued, but you have captured my interest. So tell me, just how have you managed this little trick?"

The daemon had advanced so that only a few scarce feet separated her from Gina. Gina couldn't find the words to speak, couldn't think enough to move. She just stood staring at the 8 foot tall daemon in front of her. The very manifestation of everything that the confessors had warned her would prey upon her if she lived a life of avarice and excess. What had she done though? She was by no means a saint, but surely she didn't deserve this, there were others far worse than her. Why was this happening to her?

"I suppose it doesn't matter anyways, let's end this little game," the smile turned to a grimace as the feeling a rough blanket being thrown over top of Gina returned. The daemon hissed through its teeth and reeled back several steps. Its luminescent purple eyes narrowed in anger as they fell on Erich.

"Who are you?" asked the daemon. A shotgun blast was her answer.

"So what's our situation like?" asked Cadet Commissar Walker as she loaded the last of her bolt rounds into her pistol. "And please don't sugarcoat it colonel, I can handle it."

Harding looked at her, his bionic eye whirring until only a pinprick of red was showing. His eye was deeply tanned and his hair was black as coal, flecked with grey as a testament to his survival as so few from Catachan ever did.

"So you want it straight kid?"

"Cadet Commissar if you would please," said Amy a trace of annoyance in her voice. "I still wear the sash and hat last time I checked."

"Well kid, we're low on ammo, haven't heard anything from naval security, and I have my suspicions that they're getting pretty close to considering venting the deck."

"But, but we're still here," said Cadet Commissar Walker in disbelief.

"There's daemons on this ship and they have a lot of mutants. What's the loss of some guardsmen if it means that the ship gets to survive? In fact, haven't you noticed that all the naval technicians and specialists left along with anyone else who was important?"

"But we're here."

"Face it kid, we're not important."

"Then, what do we do?"

"Well," said Harding scratching at the stubble on his chin. "We could be good little guardsmen and sit here until they decide to acquaint us with the void or."

"Or?"

"Or we could seal every door behind us as we look for a way out that doesn't involve us all sucking vacuum."

It was tempting for Walker to go along with the plan and get to safety. She wasn't overly eager to die and the thought of living did have an appeal to her. But she just couldn't do it. Billions died everyday doing far less and it was their duty to fight, no matter the odds or consequences. She wouldn't be a commissar if she allowed them to abandon their position. Even if they had been told to hold their position by a naval security officer who they had never seen nor heard from again. "Only in death does duty end," the old saying came to her mind unbidden and she knew what she had to do.

"We hold," said Amy with the finality of a stubborn old man who had come to a decision on something. "We hold until we hear otherwise and we do our duty. Distribute whatever ammo we have left around the regiment and change the detail at the barricade. We need to have a sleep schedule or else we're going to have guardsmen falling down from exhaustion. Besides, we can't have everyone at the barricades at one time anyways. Also, keep trying to raise the bridge or someone on this miserable tub who actually knows what the hell is going on. We should also try and organize some scavenging parties to try and get more munitions. There's a lot of excess ammo and weapons lying around in the hallways that we can get and I don't think anyone's going to miss it. Do you have anything to add Colonel that would help our situation?"

"Are you done yet kid, or can I get back to doing my job?"

"What?" said Walker in shock at the complete dismissal of everything that she had just said.

"We're going to pull back until we find someone who can give us ammo or some frakking idea what's going on, because I am not risking my men by sending them off in groups too small to defend themselves for a handful of bullets, because frankly a handful of bullets isn't worth the lives of any of my men. For all we know we, we're the last ones on this deck and I don't feel much like sucking void when they decide that it's tactically feasible to vent our air supply. In fact, mutants or daemons could be circling in behind us and we wouldn't even know. I don't like fighting blind and I don't like my back against a wall. We're moving out, end of discussion, so close that pretty little mouth of yours and understand that I am the one who leads this regiment. I've been doing this longer than you've been alive kid, listen to me and you might actually manage to make it to your 20th birthday. Heroes don't live long in the guard, and especially not the commissariat." Colonel Harding began issuing orders to his officers and giving directions, but the cocking of a bolt pistol made his stop mid sentence.

"We are staying right here colonel, and we are going to fight like real guardsman and die if we need to. If you try to undermine my authority again, I will exercise the powers of my office and paint the bulkhead with your brains. I am not just here for show, I am empowered by the commissariat and by extension the Emperor to deliver his justice to those above and beneath me who fail in their duty. If you will can not follow orders and do your duty I will find someone who can. So, get your men together, get whatever we have together, and do your job or you'll find that you will be _former_ colonel Harding of the Catachan 8th Jungle Fighters. I will do my duty just as you will do yours, so do not test me on this. This is no time for cowards or slackers."

"So finally taken your balls out of your purse kid? Maybe one day you'll learn where to put them, then all you'll have to do is wait 12 years for them to drop."

"Disrepect me one more time and I swear I'll shoot you dead Colonel," said Walker acutely aware of the angry eyes of the other Catachan on her. If she actually shot Harding, she had no doubt that her life would be forfeit. It was the risk that every commissar had to take, but dammit if they left here who knows what they would leave exposed? Sometimes orders that made no sense at the regimental level were completely crucial at the strategic level. Failing that, the iron discipline of the guard had to be maintained at all times. If it slipped, even for a moment all could be lost. She had been taught nearly all of her childhood that making sure that the discipline of the guard remained and that the chain a commissar must be the ultimate authority, knowing when to exert both discretion and direct intervention. Even still, her finger refused to tighten on the trigger. Her sense of self preservation was still stronger than her sense of duty, especially since that they would just pull back even if she did pull the trigger. Walker started having the sinking suspicion that she had made a mistake by pulling her gun.

"You know on Catachan we have a saying," said Harding advancing on Walker until the barrel of the bolt pistol was flush against his chest. "If you're going to kill someone, don't keep talking about it, just do it."

Moving lighting fast, Harding hit Walker's bolt pistol off to the side, where it discharged a bolt into the bulkhead. Before she could react, Harding had swept her legs out from under her and choke slammed her against the deck. His superior height and weight making the confrontation almost laughable as well as the fact that people from Catachan no matter who they were, were very good at fighting.

Walker had just enough time to exclaim her surprise before she saw a Catachan fang hovering above her head. It descended rapidly and in that moment, all the confidence that Walker had gained from her victory over Braxon shattered like so much cheap glass and she felt a moment of sheer terror.

The blade struck the deck near her head, throwing up sparks and causing Walker to involuntarily jump. Harding's augmentic eye whirred and Walker found that she focused on the cold dead eye. It was unnerving to look at it, Walker wondered idly how many people it had watched die. And what it had seen happen to Antolo, then wondered if she would even want to see it if it did. She also wondered if it would see her die.

"This is your last warning, understand kid?" The red dot whirred and spun in reaction to the varying light, trying to find the best setting to see her so close, like it had trouble seeing up close.

Walker nodded her head not trusting herself to speak and brought herself up onto her elbows, reaching for her hat and placing it back on her head with the brim down low so that it covered her eyes. There was no way in the warp that she was going to let that bastard see the tears in her eyes. She wasn't a commissar, she was just a name on the roll call so that the Catachans could say that they had a commissar. It was more of a formality than an actual position anyways in a Catachan regiment. The Catachan hated weakness, despised it even, as having to live on their world meant only that the strongest could survive. Walker knew she didn't cut an imposing figure, knew that they thought she was weak and it just wasn't fair.

She had even been one of the recruits at the scholam who had advocated a more understanding relationship with the guard. Hell, if Harding hadn't completely ignored her, she would have been willing to talk it over with him and show him the bigger picture as to why they had to stay. It was all about the big picture and if a commissar couldn't retain at least a position of respect, they lost any power they had to influence or do anything.

"Yeah, I understand," said Walker quietly. She knew what would happen now. She would be as quiet as a church mouse no matter what happened now or later and if she didn't, very unpleasant things would happen to her. It would basically amount to bullying, some sort of twisted revenge for guardsmen against the commissariat with her as the face to spit in. She wore the sash and hat, but most days it just felt like it wore her.

"Good," said Harding. "Oh, and Walker?"

"Yes?" said Walker quickly.

Harding's fist shot out like a stub round and connected with Walkers head, turning her world to black and knocking her to the deck where she remained immobile, but still breathing.

"Sir did you have to hit her?" asked Daniels rushing to Walkers side. "Amy's just trying to do her job. That looks like a nasty hit, did you have to hit her so hard?"

"She's a commissar Daniels, do you want to die defending some worthless piece of real estate because some ass higher on the chain of command couldn't be bothered to tell us to pull back because some little puffed up princess says that we're not moving? You really ought to find some other piece of ass to nail on the side if you want my advice son. If you did that, you wouldn't even have to get shot if the commissariat found out."

"I know, but did you really have to hit her?" asked Daniels inspecting the bruise forming to the left of Amy's left eye. He hefted her up onto his shoulder as the rest of the regiment was getting ready to move out.

"One more time Daniels, one more time and she's dead. Understand? Dead. I don't care what she does for you once the door is closed. Dead," said Harding one more time for emphasis.

"Yes sir, I'll make sure that she doesn't cause anymore trouble."

"Better be, or else I'll get rid of her the same way I did Antolo." Daniels face hardened at that. It hadn't been a nice end for Commissar Antolo. If nothing else, he wouldn't let that happen, not as long as he could still draw breath.

"Alright men, grab whatever you can carry and let's get this dog and pony show on the road. I hear they're cooking grox steaks on the next deck and we're all invited."

"Sounds good sir," said one guardsman with a laugh.

"Damn right it is, now get your sorry asses moving, we're heading out."

So it was with that order that the Catachan 8th jungle fighters pulled back from their position, leaving the flank of the Sumanran 92nd island warriors, and then the Krieg 12th heavy siege regiment, and neither of them had any idea that the foe was now coming from their rear, as well as the front.

"Captain, what are your orders? We have 2000 equipped armsmen that we can send out right now, and another 4000 that we can call in from other decks without compromising their security. At the very least, we could allow the guard regiments into the the armouries so that they have weapons. Warrant officer Zhu has 300 naval security troopers who are ready to stem the tide and right now they're just sitting around playing cards."

Captain Driscott descended from the roof on a mechanical arm, his obese form filling and conforming to the shape of his command throne. Neural wires sprouted from his head like impromptu dreadlocks, and they flashed with a panoply of colours. Even when sitting, he would breath like he had just run a race, and he had the sour smell of sweat and uncleanliness attached to him. He would usually have ship surfs scrub him twice a day to clean him, but ever since the crisis had transpired on the lower decks, he had refused stating that he needed his full attention focused on running the ship. He was pale beyond all belief, never once having stepped foot off of the ship and his body was the sickly white colour of lard.

The bridge of the ship was done in polished bronze, and the control levers were made of ivory. The floor was white stone from some holy world or other and the servitors manning control stations all had white porcelain masks that held the faces of saints or expressions of joy and exuberance. It made them seem like children's toys given life and let loose to walk around of their own free will. The ceiling was vaulted with an iris-like door to the navigators alcove above the main bridge area. There were tapestries on the bulkheads filled with maxims about duty and the will of the Emperor. There was even a large scale star map of Segmentum Tempestus, showing any area with any significance or strong military presence. The air smelled of sweet flowers from incense burners carried by mechanical cherubs flying near the roof of the bridge the size of babies and given visages of smiling children to make them appear more friendly, but making them appear all the more menacing. The naval officers on the bridge were dressed in starched white uniforms with the crest of the Segmentum Tempestus fleet on one shoulder and their ship crest on the other. They were to an officer at least a hundred years old and each of them professionals at their jobs, but hamstrung by their desire to be the next to sit in Driscott's chair and not do anything which would upset the obese captain. How Bhaji hated the captain.

"Is this problem not done with by now?" demanded the captain in his wheezing officious tone. "They are simply mutants rebelling. My blessed mother put down several of those in her time and even I have put down one with little difficulty. Simply show them who is dominant on this ship and that will be that."

"Your mother could also walk because she wasn't a lard piece of shit," thought first officer Bhaji but didn't dare to say. The only thing larger than Captain Driscott's rolls was his temper and once roused, the halls would run red with blood. Not like they already weren't though.

"There is concern that there may be a problem of greater threat than mutants your eminence," said Bhaji patiently. "That there may have been a breach." A hushed silence fell among the naval officers, with only the quiet buzz of servitors hardwired into their stations making any sort of noise. A short wheezing laugh broke the hushed silence.

"Bah, rumours and fear mongers. I swear, the discipline around here is breaking down to nothing. There's no respect anymore for naval traditions or superior officers. I should Have warrant Zhu put some fear into the ratings, that will sure to straighten some problems right out. A little crackdown on the laxity and vices of the void hands is good from time to time, lets them know that they're still being watched. You said that Zhu was ready to go right now first officer Bhaji?"

"Yes sir, but I would advise that you send his men down to some of the passenger decks. If we don't make sure to hold them there where we can confine them, they'll make it to the upper decks where they can more easily bypass the blast doors and the security measures. We've been needing refit and repair for months now and half of the emergency doors don't even work. Another pressing issue is that the only deck in which the automated defences work is this one sir. If we don't hold them, the ship could fall sir."

"Has the situation unmanned you First officer? Have you shrivelled in on yourself in fear at the prospect of having to actually fight the mutants the old fashioned way? It is so annoying when they revolt like this, you would think that they would simply stop trying wouldn't you think? I mean it was just last year that something like this happened, terrible mess that, I should really have the damage from that rebellion repaired," said Captain Driscott, his multiple chins vibrating with every word.

"Sir the last rebellion was sixty years ago and we are getting reports that they have unholy help on their side. We need to exit the Immaterium and clear our ship deck by deck and save all those we can, including the mutants before we continue to ensure that there is no risk of a moral threat by the ruinous powers."

"Then we'll just vent the decks that have mutants on them, saves the problem of sorting those involved or free of the conspiracy and the problem will solve itself. I seem to recall that mutants have a hard time breathing with no air," said Driscott with a smile. "By the way, what's on the menu for the evening meal tonight? Last time it was roast selmu and it was just terrible, absolutely terrible I tell you." Bhaji then had to listen to a ten minute tirade about how to properly tell if roast selmu was done correctly and the merits of boiling it as opposed to roasting it. When it seemed that Driscott had finished, Bhaji returned to the matter at hand.

"But sir, if it is a moral threat that won't do anything," said Bhaji practically pleading with Driscott to see reason and hope that what he was saying got through. "There are still thousands of able bodied men and women that are able to bear arms and that are even right now holding the decks. We need to send them reinforcements now or at least ammo. Emperor knows that they haven't been resupplied since this whole thing began. We've only got contact with a contact with a handful of armsmen on those levels and they're reporting wounds and fatigue. If you don't want to send in more armsmen, then at least let us arm the guard regiments If we can set up a means of command and control, we'll be able to effectively counter the situation, in addition to the armsmen from the upper decks."

"You presume to tell_ me _that I am to _arm_ members of the Imperial _Guard_ on my ship? If you are joking first officer, it is not funny, not funny in the least. This is a ship in the _navy_, and on a _navy_ ship, my word is law. We will never rely on the guard for our security or allow them weapons on board our ship, or any navy ship," said Driscott vehemently, the jowls of his cheeks shaking with his rage. "We will look after our own. You don't understand that those decks don't matter first officer. They are storage and crew quarters, completely dispensable if it comes to it. The enginarium is well defended, the CIC is well defended, and the bridge is well defended. If the unthinkable is to happen and they do break through on the lower decks, what good is sending more armsmen into the meat grinder? That is speaking of course, if it is an actual threat and not just a rebellion. This will all be over soon and then all that will be left to do will be to purge the ship of mutant labourers and their like. We do not have a breach, and there is no greater threat."

"But sir," protested Bhaji.

Driscott didn't answer, merely stared off into space as if fixated by something on the wall which caused Bhaji to pause and look. It was a blank wall. Bhaji waited for the captain to regain his composure, but after five minutes with the captain staring with his mouth agape at the wall, Bhaji decided to see if he could reach him.

"Sir are you well?" asked Bhaji politely. Driscott continued to stare with his mouth agape at the wall.

"Sir?" Still no reaction.

"Driscott, should I get the medicae?" with a shake, Driscott shook himself out of his stupefaction and fixed Bhaji with two blue piggy eyes.

"That will be lord, eminence, or captain first officer or I will have you stripped of your post and lashed. Do you understand? I will not tolerate insubordination and there is no moral threat or threat of a breach, do you hear me? There is no threat. Our armsmen will subdue the revolt in short order and the situation does not warrant additional men. The current forces are sufficient and they will hold, end of discussion." Driscott rotated his chair, to better view the instrumentation that showed the current situation on the ship. Aged eyes crowded in by drooping fat looking over the readouts.

Driscott had gotten his position through family ties true, but he had not always been so lacking. He had once been a bright eyed young ensign who had been vigorous in his duties and completely devoted in his charge. Time had worn away at his vigour and doused the flames of his enthusiasm. He had grown lax and lazy, complacent in his station. Now, at nearly 350 years of age, he was detached from things in his ship. He lived on the bridge, in the computers, in manifests, in rosters, moving along wires and bursts of electrical information, more asleep that awake most days; constantly assaulted by gigabytes of data per second, every second, of everyday until he needed to sleep. His mind had been overused to the point of being made soft and things such as minor repairs and malfunctioning inner security turrets no longer worried him. There were many captains who served for longer, but Driscott was not one who was meant to be in command for that long, or at all. A good second, but never a captain. Now, after all his years of service he was the one thing that was now more harmful than helpful to the ship. His one redeeming quality through all his excess and incompetence was his loyalty to the Imperium and to the navy. It was he lived for and what he would die for on a word.

So, approaching 400 kilograms of fat Driscott gave orders that made no sense, ordered repairs and refits on brand new components that needed none, then stopped projects that were halfway through for no reason and left entire sections empty in the ship. Parts of the ship were without power, running water, or Emperor forbid, air. Food stocks were over ordered or never ordered at all, repairs went undone, crimes unpunished, and the crew unsupervised. He would rant and rave one day over a missing stapler, then smile serenely over the fact that half the ships water supply had been lost because of a malfunctioning recycling tank. His ship ran, because the officers under him ran it. He stayed alive, because the serfs remembered to change the nutrient packs in his chair which sustained him. Driscott was either going insane, or nearly there yet he still commanded his ship. He was unfit, unwell, and clearly unhealthy yet the bureaucracy kept him in his command throne.

"But lord, the risk that the Slanneshi daemons of breaching to the upper levels is only negligible, we need to commit more armsmen to the fight or the forces of the Prince of Pleasure will overwhelm our defences and become stronger by taking the souls of the vanquished," said Bhaji.

"How, do you know that name?" asked Driscott. He had become deathly still and the mention of the use of the name of a god of Chaos. His chair swivelled slowly and lowered itself to come level with Bhaji.

"Well, everyone knows that name now lord, I mean its common knowledge. If you would listen to your crew, you would know too. People aren't ignorant of these things anymore. If we're going to defend ourselves against this kind of thing, we need to be able to defend ourselves by arming ourselves with knowledge. As long as we approach it logically, we can stay free of the more undesirable effects."

"No, no it's not common knowledge," said Driscott. His words were being formed like his mind was a great machine trying to function properly one last time. Great gears trying to catch each other to turn properly, but slipping, only to hook on the next tooth. The name had unsettled the crew, like breeze not unlike the dying breath of a sick man had swept across the room, laughter faintly heard in the back of the assembled crews heads as the name was whispered into their ears by an unseen seductress. Little more than a soft exhale, but still it repeated and with it resonated promises of untold pleasures and possibilities. Slannesh. "Not common at all," muttered Driscott.

"You're eminence, with your leave I will send down the armsmen from decks one through five to aid in the defence."

"Not at all common," said Driscott, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Bhaji made a sound of disgust, shook his head and looked away from his superior officer.

"The Captain is having an episode and is unable to respond to this crisis," said Bhaji turning to the rest of the bridge crew. "I will be assuming command until the end of this situation and am invoking emergency procedures. All able bodied armsmen and naval security are to report to action station and prepare for counter boarding protocols involving an insertion from within. Make it happen people, we've got a ship to save. I want live feeds from any pict cams we still have functioning and I want all vital areas completely locked down. Break out everything we have from the armouries, but do not kill the mutants who are not hostile." This elicited startled looks from the other members of the bridge crew.

"They're mutants, why would we not cleanse them all to end the rebellion?" asked a clean cut officer from the weapons station.

"And if there is a...breach, we need to be sure that it hasn't spread to any of the other mutants. Who knows what those things have been doing, or how many have been tainted?" asked another officer at the vox communication station, her jet-black hair done up in a no nonsense bun.

"Mutants cost money," said Bhaji curtly. "We're going to have a lot of explaining to do and its going to cost a lot to refit and repair the _Emperor's Emissary _ and I don't know about you, but I would rather not have to explain to the munitorum about why we need an entire new contingent of mutants. Or serfs and as you know, they cost far more to fill the ship with, and just to point out an obvious point, if we leave a few alive they'll be able to tell the new ones we get what happens if they rebel again or turn to Slannesh or any of the other gods of chaos." At the mention of the name, several of the officers present involuntarily shivered and more than one looked around anxiously.

"So in short, the mutants stay alive."

"You fool," said Driscott, his command chair rising on its mechanical arm, whirring and the soft humm of more advanced machine spirits at work.

"Yes your eminence?" asked Bhaji all to familiar with Driscotts rantings and random wrathful rages.

"You thought yourself smart enough to trifle with things beyond understanding save for the Emperor himself and those with only the strongest of wills? The very things that have claimed countless souls of beings far greater than you or I could ever be? That have made the immortal space marines turn to the ruinous powers with promises of power and understanding? Did you think that you could outsmart them? That you were wiser than the Emperor when he told us to abhor the warp and all its creations? That malign presences thousands if not millions of years old, could be outsmarted by a pup of a navy officer, still sucking at the teat of promotion and self aggrandizement? That you of all people, could learn of the things of the warp and remain untainted? That any mortal could learn of these things, those blasphemous teachings and remain untainted? You've deluded yourself first officer, deluded yourself beyond all measure. The first sign, the very inkling of a hint of corruption, you should have contacted the munitorum or the ecclesiarchy, preferably both. The fact that you have not done this, goes beyond negligence, it is heresy. You are a heretic First Officer, whether through conscious admission or not, you are a heretic and must face judgement."

"Your grace, I am not a heretic. I have run your ship while you wasted away into a babbling ruin. I have done your duties while you stared at illumination rods to made spots and colours appear in your eyes. I have changed the rosters to make sure that we didn't run out of food halfway through the voyage and that we have clean drinking water so we do not develop typhoid. I have been the one who has kept this ship running in light of your inability to do so. So before you label me a heretic, know that I have done more to serve the Imperium than you ever have and that you are the single most useless thing on this ship," said Bhaji, dropping all pretences of nicety. "You haven't been a captain for 40 years, haven't even been coherent for 10. You don't belong on a bridge, you belong in a long term care facility with a nurse to wipe the drool from your lips." Those words cut deep into the fatty rolls of Drisscott, like a thermometer stuck into a side of pork.

"I may have failed in my duties as a captain Bhaji. But you, you have failed your duty to the Emperor and damned your soul to an eternity of agony. The ruinous powers are not kind masters, you will realize that when you are sent back to them. May the Emperor have mercy on your soul, for they will not."

"You think that you can judge me you fat incompetent fool?" said Bhaji laughing. "You're the traitor here, you let all of this happen. You've mistreated the mutants, not only allowing them to live in squalor, but giving your armsmen free reign to do as they please with them. What do you think happens when one of them gets raped, tortured, killed, robbed, or dispossessed? Nothing, they're mutants and below contempt. Did you really expect anything different to happen with them? That they would continue serving an ungrateful lard of a captain and Imperium who barely tolerates their existence? Are some feral? Yes. Do a good percentage turn feral or simply die from imperfect body functions? Yes. But when you refuse to allow them to even live like animals, they're going to turn to anyone who offers them better. So forgive me if I am the only one who educated himself on the the dangers of warp and the dark gods."

"SILENCE!" Thundered Driscott from his command chair, his voice amplified by the vox speakers in the room. "I deem you a heretic and a traitor and as my right as captain I sentence you to death," and just as Driscott finished speaking, a team of naval security troopers opened the heavy blast door and entered the bridge, automatic shotguns at the ready. Smooth, almost glossy grey carapace armour adorned them, with pitiless mirrored blast visors drawn down over their faces.

"Petty officer, kill this man," said Driscott, his voice filled with loathing. The shotguns of the naval security troopers turned to Bhaji.

"You heard him," said Bhaji smiling. The shotguns swung from Bhaji to Driscott and the rest of the command crew.

"Treachery!" howled Driscott a split second before the air will filled with razor sharp flechettes and thunderous detonations.

The clean cut officer at the weapons station had the top portion of his head blown off, showering the wall behind him with chunks of bone and grey matter. The officer at the comm station did slightly better, managing to pull her auto pistol out of its holster before being literally ripped to pieces by the shill scream of flechettes. Somebody screamed.

Driscott however was unharmed, an archaic piece of void shielding technology flashing brightly anytime a flechette tried to find its mark. His command throne was moving erratically on its metal arm, trying to evade the air filled with lethal projectiles.

"You think that you can mutiny on my ship? I didn't become captain by allowing ants like you to kill me and I'm not about to start now!" An explosion at the base of the mechanical arm where it met the throne caused the command throne to fall like a lard filled tub, before arresting its descent with a hum and air swirling at its base. Grav plates installed at the base of the chair centuries ago had been activated and held the chair aloft.

"Feel the Emperor's wrath!" shouted Driscott slamming his pudgy fist down on a previously hidden activation rune. The top of the chairs arms retracted and in their place rose two multi-las cannons. Driscott screamed in wordless rage as he pushed down Firing studs, his command throne darting and bobbing around the room, firing large concentrations of weaponized light all around the room.

The sharp crack of las fire soon overcame the steady thump of flechette rounds. Bodies, consoles, servitors, masonry, and architecture were vaporized in the exchange, the mutinous naval security blown to pieces as they vainly tried to bring down the obese captain in the flying command throne with the firepower of two chimeras.

"Kill him, KILL HIM!" screamed Bhaji holding down the trigger on his automatic shotgun and peppering the command throne with flechettes and slug. "Kill that fat, bald-headed, flying frak!" Cherubs fell from the roof as broken bits of machinery and incense oil, the smiling faces cracked and marred or outright destroyed. More disturbing in death than they ever were in life.

The void shield was glowing bright yellow by now and after a final heavy hit, broke with a sound akin to shattering glass. Flechettes from Bhaji and the last remaining naval security trooper raked over Driscott, shredding his pristine navy uniform and mincing the lard underneath. Blood and fat were ripped from his body, leaving chunks of lard and oversized clothing on the floor. It didn't kill him.

With one final effort of will, Drisscott put all the power of the throne forward as he vaporized the last naval security trooper. Going nearly thirty miles per hour, Driscott's Command throne struck a row of bronze consoles and stopped dead, but launched his 400 kilo frame forward like some ungainly bird gaining flight.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" shouted Driscott bleeding from dozens of wounds and near death. His frame struck Bhaji and crushed him into the stone deck, literally crushing the life out of him and caving in his ribcage as the mass that was Driscott impacted him with the force of a small car.

With a weak grunt, Driscott tried to raise himself up on his own for the first time in a hundred years. The bridge was a mess, the officers dead, but thankfully the navigator was still unmolested and able to bring them to their destination. The pain was sharp, but fading quickly along with his vision. The ship would survive as would the majority or the crew and the regiments would make planetfall. This, was a good way to die. He was getting feeble of mind and his body had long ago betrayed him. This would be his last moments, lucid, aware, a hero.

"Captain, are you alright?"

Driscott looked up to see the face of the newest command officer aboard his ship. From Hydrafur naval academy, good marks and competent. She would make a fine officer in time. Only there wasn't time. If his first officer was corrupted, who else could have been? He couldn't let the chain of command continue down, because he had no idea which links were rotten. It had to be someone new, someone fresh to take charge. Someone young with fire in their blood and their faith unblemished.

"Get a medicae, do it now!" snapped the young officer to the armsmen at her sides, she couldn't have been more than thirty, but she looked younger and maybe she was.

"No time," rasped Driscott, his neural wires hanging limp and lifeless around his head like sodden hair. "Come here." The young officer quickly came to him, unsure of what to do."

"Captain, what happened?"

"No, time," wheezed Driscott. "There is taint here. You must not let it corrupt the ship, must not fail as I have. A-as my r-r-r-ight as Captain, I-I ergr, name you as-zz lord and commannnggder," managed Driscott. The pain becoming more intense by the second, but his world fading away. "With bloody, numbing hands, Driscott ripped the captains ranks from his shoulders and thrust them into the hands of the young officer. "You ar-are Captain n-now. Stop. This. Taint," forced out Driscott. With a final wheezing sigh, the light faded from Driscott's eyes and he died, keeping a chaos corrupted officer from taking over his ship in his final act as both a captain and of defiance.

Heavy boots thundered down metal plated decks, echoing and resounding in the empty blood streaked hallways. Weak emergency lights painted everything in a soft blue hue as a young Krieger and mutant raced past them. Howling and baying heard coming from disconcertingly close behind. Leaping, crawling, slithering, loping, the feral horde followed close on their heels.

"This way!" shouted Gina pointing down an auxiliary hallway. Erich loosed off a round of razor sharp flechettes into the horde following them and then raced after Gina.

After Erich had taken half the daemons face off, it had shrieked like nothing he had ever heard before, turning his blood to ice and ferals had come from seemingly thin air and taken up the chase. The daemon couldn't use its arcane powers to trap and take them, so it was using more rudimentary means. For instance, a horde of feral mutants that it had at its beck and call.

A feral rushed out of a room as they passed it and Erich snapped off a quick shot that removed the arms on its left side and knocked it out of their way, adding a new and fresh blood spatter to the wall. The purple blood contrasted sharply with the bare metal of the walls.

Erich's breath came easy to him, the long runs in full combat load and pack made maintaining this frantic pace easy. His long strides devoured the distances of the ship easily and quickly. Admittedly, the consequences for not moving fast enough were far worse, but as long as he and Gina could outpace the mutants, they would be fine. But they were catching up quickly.

Surprisingly enough, there was a distinct lack of fear in Erich. He had seen what could only have been a greater daemon and had been, well, less than impressed. He had a weapon, could fight to protect himself, and knew that he would take down many before he fell. Fear was either irrational, drawn from memory to avoid further harm and pain to the body, or a self preservation instinct. When quieted, a human being was capable of amazing things. Even still, his blood sang in his veins, whether from excitement or anxiety he couldn't be sure, but his adrenal glands were going overtime. One becomes accustomed to horrors readily enough, and those with the will can rise above what they fear, or at least push it aside to do their duty. Though it left a hard lump in his stomach refused to leave entirely.

Gina's eyes flew over the different signs and markings of the ship, even simple imperfections in the metal like only one who has lived their entire lives aboard a ship can do.

"This way," she called again and Erich followed her down another side hall.

"They're catching up," warned Erich firing another round into the horde as they too rounded the corner. It took one, maimed several more, but the press of bodies soon swarmed over the dead and came on as undeterred as ever.

"We're almost there," said Gina moving nimbly through the clutter and wreckage in the hallway. Overturned tables, filing cabinets, beds, and even deployable riot barricades littered their course. There were plenty of guns and articles of ripped clothing and even a little bit of blood, but no bodies. That strange sludge was indeed fearsome, it was almost like it had swept down the corridors like a tidal wave and overcome the defenders like ferocious waters overcome even the mightiest of ships.

Erichs foot caught the top of a former barricade as he attempted to leap it and he fell to the ground before he could use his forward momentum to make himself roll, so unexpected was the fall. Gina faltered in her step to look back at him.

"Keep moving!" shouted Erich, rising and pumping another round into the oncoming horde. They were now much closer to him and gaining fast. He took off running again, with a noticeable gap between him and Gina. He began to overtake her, but the mutants were overtaking him as well. He needed to think, needed to do something to slow them down, but what?

Erich looked quickly around him as he ran, the mutants practically breathing down his neck as he did so. "Come on think, think dammit!" Erich mentally screamed at himself. There were blast doors set at intervals, but there was no way to activate them. They could only be activated by someone with an authorization key, or in an emergency like a void breach or a fire.

Taking a risk, Erich slowed enough to fire at the roof at the fire control system. The heads blew off of the sprinklers and water gushed out of the broken fixtures, but was soon added to by water spraying from the others. Water ran in rivulets down Erich's uniform and greatcoat, but he didn't feel the cold or the discomfort, completely sealed off from the world in his environmental suit. Water ran from the lenses of his mask, giving the impression that he was crying.

Water pelted off the deck and made the floor slippery and wet, the water swilling with a mixture of filth and blood, dirtying the water which was already running around his feet. Fire was arguably more dangerous on a ship than it was planet side and needed to be snuffed out immediately, so the deluge of water was hardly anything surprising in its intensity.

Heavy, thick doors began to grind and slide on their tracks as they closed to prevent what the machine spirits thought to be fire from spreading. Some ground to a halt only half closed, others refused to close at all, but others moved to shut as they had been intended to do.

Far ahead, Gina was at what looked like a maintenance access hatch. She was doing something to the machine spirit at the door, her clothes were sodden through and drenched, but strangely looked quite less than miserable, almost pleased. Although he would be less than pleased if the blast door ahead of him closed before he could make it through. His breathing sounded far too loud in his ears, and his mask was beginning to hiss as pressurized air began to leak from his mask from around the fangs still embedded in it. Water ran across the lenses of his mask, sliding off the non-stick surface, but still blurring it, even momentarily.

Putting as much power as he could into his pounding legs, Erich ran for all he was worth and cleared the door well before it was closed and stood level with Gina. Unfortunately, the door was still far from closed and there were others who wished to come through.

Standing so he could fire through the opening, Erich began putting as many rounds down range as he could. Methodically firing and pumping, firing and pumping. The shells landed at his feet and were carried to and fro by the water that was steadily rising on the floor. He aimed not to kill, but to slow down the mutants as much as possible. Where one fell from a destroyed knee, five more stumbled or fell because of it. Then the shotgun clicked dry.

The burst from the auto pistol raked the front rank, but did little to slow down the horde, but the door was nearly closed. Erich dropped the gun from his hand to the deck and drew the sword at his hip. It entered his hand with a rasp and Erich ran his index and middle finger down the middle of the blade before preparing it with a flourish.

When the two halves of the blast door did come together and close, it crushed mutants between its unfeeling steel edges, but allowed a good deal through, and they made straight for Erich.

Widening his stance, Erich waited for the first to come to him, before splitting it head to groin in a savage downwards swing. Before the two halves of the beetle-like mutant had hit the floor, Erich was moving. He took the next in a horizontal slash across the chest, then the one behind it with a backhand of the same. Pivoting sharply on his feet, Erich dodged an out thrust pincer, then removed in with a keening swing with his blade. Already he was moving again.

Water splashed and moved around his feet as he kept his feet low to the ground, but stayed nimble. He used the overhead swing of a mutant with a wrench to spin around it and draw his sword across its hump, greatcoat flaring as he did so. Erich then blocked an attack from behind by thrusting his sword behind his shoulder parallel to his body, redirecting the blow and drawing blood as his sword dug into mutant flesh. His sword flashed through the air and a head flew from its perch to land in the water with a splash and a thud.

The world was moving strangely slow, as it always did when Erich fought with a sword. It was like all of his senses were heightened to that of an adeptus astartes. He could read every move that the mutants were going to make before they even made it, because they telegraphed it horribly. His sword moved like an extension of his own arm, cleaving, hacking, slashing, and rending flesh and bone with grotesque ease. They couldn't touch him when he was like this, he danced around them blocking and striking with impunity or just moving out of reach entirely. A duel, a battle with a sword, a test of steel was more than a fight, it was a dance. There was a flow, a rhythm, a grace to it that one had to move to. There was a mad beat to dance to, a rhythm to keep and it was death that played the tune. It was more than simple hacking and slashing, it was a tango, a waltz, an intimate endeavour that required as much grace as skill and cold detachment as rage and oh, how Erich loved to dance.

Quick as a whip, he merely sidestepped a lunging mutant and moved his blade through its chest cavity as it passed by him, the blade passing as easily through the flesh as a las bolt through butter. A couple quick steps, barely more than a stride, and he was already out of the mutants path as came at him making them appear clumsy and foolish. Turning sharply on his heel, Erich brought his blade around in a diagonal slash felling a leaping mutant into two halves and with blood still streaming from the blade, drove it into the chest of another.

He withdrew his blade as a mutant with far too many mandibles came rushing at him chittering madly with far too many of its fellows pressing it forward and blocking Erich's line of retreat. The dance had taken them to the wall with those too shy to dance and where it became too awkward. Erich did not yet wish to end the dance and wished to return to the ballroom floor for a final intimate embrace. Erich rushed forward and dove forward in a roll that took him through the ranks of mutants and rose turning, water splaying off his greatcoat, sword flashing in the dim blue light as he skidded on the slick metal.

He fell on them from behind, claiming another few, before they forced him to show them how to dance again. It took a special kind of person who could use a blade in a fight. It was much more personal, more intimate than using a gun. There was no mere twitch of a finger to end a life, it was the swing of your arm, feeling as the blade met flesh, then kept going, and the shrill cries of pain that ensued. It was a reason many psychotic killers preferred to use a knife on their victims, because it was so much more personal. Erich loved fighting with a sword, not for some perverse satisfaction of killing, but for the mental acuity and pure test of skill and strength that came from it. There was no guilt in killing a mutant the way one might feel for killing another human being, even traitor, just the sheer thrill of the fight. Erich loved to fight, not for the pain and killing, but the challenge it posed to him. It was life and death and it made things so very simple, so clear. He moved with perfect control, always aware of what he was doing, knowing exactly what pain and death he was bringing.

Limbs flew, multi coloured blood mixed and swirled in the dirty water at their feet, and terrible shrieks of pain rebounded off the uncaring metal walls. A mutant would lunge for him and Erich would just dance to the side, outstretched blade eager for a partner, but so very rough in how it received them, then Erich would twirl and bring the blade down on another. The blade was dulling, the dance too long for it, its edge not holding. It was starting to catch and hold its partners instead of going from one to another like a capricious hummingbird in a field of flowers, but there were so few partners left.

One of the last mutants managed to take Erich in an embrace, but it embraced the sword first, gleaming plas steel protruding from its back, its beak moving in wordless agony. The second to last mutant tried to take Erich from behind, but he pulled away from the mutant embracing him and drew his sword across the dog-like mutants stomach as he moved almost lazily and it crashed into the mutant with the beak. Both mortally wounded mutants falling in a heap on the ground, throwing water up as they fell.

The last mutant no longer wished to fight and it made for the only exit that it knew of, but it was already closed. It clawed and scraped at the door, just as its compatriots were doing on the other side. It howled in what eerily seemed like fear as Erich swung his sword. Blood splattered in a rough line up the door in the path that the sword took.

As the mutant fell, Erich flicked his sword with a snap of his wrist, clearing it of blood. He carefully inserted it into its sheath until with a click, it was secure. Turning, her saw Gina staring at him, eyes disbelieving and mouth agape.

"Shall we continue?" asked Erich.

"Won't be long now," mused Stanton to himself inspecting his chainsword.

Power had been restored and now yellow-white light bathed the hallway from long elecro bulbs stuck into the ceiling. The hall was wide enough for eight men to walk abreast on, and the defenders were making the most of it. The armsmen and naval commissars were at the front behind hastily erected barricades, every muzzle of every weapon trained on the blast door that was distending like a fat mans girth. Whatever was on the other side was going to break through soon.

"We'll be ready for them," said Osei, brushing some imaginary dirt off of his commissariat cap badge.

"Of course we will."

"That didn't sound too convincing Colonel."

"No, our men will fight and fight for all they're worth, it's what they'll be armed with that concerns me," said Stanton making a small gesture.

The Korpsmen had made themselves makeshift spears from mops, taking off the head and then sharpening the shaft until it made a crude spear. There were only so many mops however, and only the ones in the front ranks had them, as much good as they would do. Some of the other Korpsmen had even taken to removing their helmets in hopes of using the spike atop of them as a weapon. They had fashioned them into rough punching gloves by gripping the inside lining of the helm and securing their hands with adhesive tape and cyano-acrylics.

"Perhaps, but look at it like this. The opening will be small, only a few will get through at a time, and any that do will killed by the armsmen as they concentrate their fire. The bodies will pile up around the opening allowing fewer and fewer through, making it easier for the armsmen to kill them. If all goes well we won't even have to fight, merely stay here for moral support," said Osei with a smirk.

"No plan survives contact with the enemy Commissar."

"You never try to look on the bright side Colonel, not everything ends with terribly costly engagements that cast lives away like grain in the wind. If anything, it is more likely that it will be the navy personnel who die instead of our Korpsmen. Would you disagree?"

"No,"admitted Stanton. "That's true enough."

"Now do you feel better?" asked Osei.

"A little bit, the bit with navy lads dying did a bit to cheer me up."

"I thought it might, just try not to contribute to it."

"I will try my best, but I make no promises."

"Colonel," said Osei, a hint of warning in his voice.

"I was joking Commissar, you really must learn to take a joke. You are far too serious sometimes, even for a commissar."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"That's a good lad," said Osei cheerily.

"Colonel," said Osei with the same warning tone in his voice.

"I know, I'm trying to be less glib, truly I am."

"I'm sure."

"You wound me Osei, that stung."

"Commissar."

"What? Where?" asked Stanton putting his augmetic had above his brow and looked around.

"Colonel."

"Trying, really I am."

With a squeal of protesting metal, the blast door began to give way, opening where the two halves in the middle like an eye of a sleeping giant.

"Well here we go," said Stanton. "Fifty crowns say that I kill more than you." Osei looked at him sharply.

"Gambling is against the regulations of both guard conduct, commissariat behaviour, and guard-commissariat relations. Plus, 100 crowns says that I'll win."

"I'll take your friendly wager Commissar," said Stanton, his lips curving into a smile, raising the edges of his moustache and sighting down the length of his bolt pistol. It shook slightly.

"Nervous Colonel?" asked Osei

"What?" asked Stanton quickly, like a teen who had been asked about the porn slate found under his mattress. "Oh, nerves, yes, always get to me before a battle. Sometimes I shake like a leaf and jitter around like a broken piece of cogboy gear," he gave a short laugh as he said it.

"Will you be able to fight?"

"Of course I will, it's just nerves."

"I have a detox pill if you need one," offered Osei. It'll make you feel a little woozy for a moment, but it'll clear you out in just a few seconds."

"I already told you it's nerves," snapped Stanton.

"I'm here to help."

"Then get ready to fight," said Stanton, switching his bolt pistol to his augmetic hand to hold it steady.

With a final shrieking groan or protesting metal, the blast door caved inwards, then a massive impact tore them off their tracks all together. A mutant the size of an ogryn with a spotted and striped hide stood in the doorway, with one giant eye in the middle of its head with angry red lines tracing their way across its yellow surface. It opened its monstrous mouth and roared deep and loud, an instant before a barrage of stub fire raked over its form in invisible streams tearing off chunks of flesh and bloody fur.

A sharp bolt crack, barely perceptible amongst the rattle of stud fire penetrated the monstrously huge single eye, then detonated, exploding the head like an overripe fruit with chunks of eye and bone going in all directions. Osei let out a grin of satisfaction.

"Still only counts as one," grumbled Stanton firing as the horde behind the behemoth started advancing. They moved on six legs, two, on the walls, and on the ceiling. They slithered and slid, or pulled themselves along on overdeveloped arms because their underdeveloped legs couldn't hold them. Shrieking, gibbering, chittering, growling, and baying they came. Only to be met with a hail of solid round weapons and taken apart piece by piece.

The armsmen were doing volley fire with automatic weapons, with half emptying their clips as fast as their weapons could cycle their new rounds, and the other half waiting to take up the slack when the first group needed to reload and so forth. On the battlefield, it would be a wasteful and inept use of ammunition and firepower. Here, it was devastating.

The bodies were piling up faster than they could move forward and the dead were blocking the way for the others trying to follow in their path. Mutants fell from the roof, swatted down by a hail of lead and steel. Over all the sounds of death, weapons fire, and frantic orders, there was a tinkling sound like someone dumping over a barrel bolts onto a metal flooring. The casings from the spent rounds were coating the floor like a brass primer, bouncing and rolling like coins thrown into a wishing well long since gone dry.

Stanton picked his shots carefully and with each shot he took, a mutant would die. Here, an exploded torso, there, a popped head like a grape between his fingers. The constant clamour of gunfire was so loud in the confined space, rebounding off of the walls that his ears were ringing and his head hurt. The smell of cordite and hot metal was overpowering and it mixed with the tang of blood and fecal matter. The faces of the armsmen without blast visors were darkening, as the discharge and spent powder began to cling to them and any clothing they wore and still they fired pause. Neither smell, nor sight, nor sound would make them cease their rate of fire. Even as the dead began to pile up to the ceiling directly in front of their positions.

Blood began to flow like a stream down the hall, past the armsmen's position who took no notice and spread out, regardless of the geometry of the floor, or the obstacles in their way, so much was the amount of blood rushing forwards.

For twenty long minutes, the armsmen and the anyone else with a weapon fired as long as they had ammunition and when they ran out, would engage the mutants with whatever was at hand. Boarding axes, chain spears, mono swords, clubs, stun batons set to maximum charge, powerfists, and even hand and tooth.

One armsman had just emptied his clip into the chest of one particularly robust mutant and as he reached for another, a mutant leaped from the top of the mound of dead and forced him to the ground. Before the armsman could do anything else or another help him, the mutant struck its head forward and latched onto his throat. Razor sharp teeth grabbed and severed the carotid artery along with several other major blood vessels and performed a rather impromptu tracheotomy by taking out the entire front of his throat. The mutant roared in victory as it ate the still hot flesh.

Its victory was short lived however, as an armsman with a powerfist hit it in the side of the head with a crackling blue haymaker and exploded its skull, sickly pink and raw flesh disintegrating under the blow and a perfectly intact eye landing on the ground before being popped under the armoured boot of an armsman driving a groaning chainspear through the torso of another mutant.

"Hold the line and drive them back!" shouted a naval commissar with a powersword as he cleaved a mutant in half with an overhead swing. "The Emperor is watching you this day, do not disappoint him!"

With a final desperate surge, the mutants threw the last of their number at the defending armsmen, scrambling over their own dead, having to first push them away from the breached blast door and causing a cascade of mutant bodies down the ever growing mountain only to add to it as the armsmen peppered them with fire as soon as they were visible. The mutants were terrifying creatures that were deadly in close quarters, but charging down a narrow hallway at dug in armsmen with automatic weapons only turned them into moving targets. As the last of the mutants died, so too did the harsh bark of automatic fire die away too.

Smoke drifted up lazily from the barrels of the armsmen's weapons as they continued to scan the mutant mound, in case the attack was not yet done with. Slowly, they relaxed and stood, rubbing at ears still ringing from the aftershock of being so long assaulted with too much noise. A few laughed, a few vomited, and a few cheered, but mostly they were just quiet with numb fatigue. A few single shots rang out as not all of the mutants were quite dead, but for the most part their guns remained silent. The commissar however, was less than silent.

"Armsmen of the _Emperor's Emissary,_" began the commissar standing atop of one of the barricades. "You have been tested by the forces of dread and misery and spat in their faces as they wailed with terror! You have shown them that your hearts are like the plasma reactors aboard the very ship they tried to claim. Filled with fire and unbridled power. They thought they could lay low such stalwart men and women such as you who are an extension of the Emperor's very will? That such lowly creatures could overcome those whose faith is stronger than the admantanium hull of this ship? What say you about this?"

"No," said the armsmen rousing and becoming more jubilant in their victory.

"Of course not, the Emperor is with us now and always. He has proven his benevolence in allowing us our victory and even though we had fear in our hearts at the sight of these monstrosites we stood firm and conquered. So, stand tall and stand proud, for today the Emperor has smiled down upon you and blessed you with his fiery might. Revel in it, just as you revel in our victory. Weep for the fallen when the time has come, but know that they now stand by the Emperor's side in everlasting glory!"

A cheer broke out amongst the armsmen after the commissars speech, a kind of frantic happiness and good cheer, like it could disappear again at any moment. The mood was infectious and Stanton found that he could break out and cheer right out alongside them.

"You know Osei, you could learn a thing or two from that fellow," said Stanton nudging Osei in the side.

"36."

"What?"

"I killed 36 mutants colonel, how many did you kill?"

"27," said Stanton, his moustache bristling.

"Does this mean that I've won Colonel?"

"Did you only count the big one for one Commissar?"

"Of course I did Colonel, and what was it that we bet for? A hundred crowns? I believe that my winnings will buy me a very nice pair of boots and coat. Maybe a night out once we get some leave off of this ship. What do you think Colonel?"

"Hmmpf, I must have miscounted," said Stanon.

"You mean you only got 26 Colonel?"

"Alright my boy, you've made your point, you'll get your crowns."

"Commissar or Osei Colonel, I really don't want to ruin the moment."

"Such a sourpuss Commissar," admonished Stanton. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

"I'm a commissar first and a friend second Colonel, please do remember that."

"I will try my best."

"That means a lot coming from you Colonel really it does."

"Does the blood look like it's moving to you," asked Stanton suddenly looking at the blood spreading out serenely across the floor.

"The blood?" asked Osei questioningly.

"Yes, the blood. It's moving back in on itself do you see?"

"It is," said Osei slightly awestruck at what he was seeing. "It's moving from the bodies too. Blood doesn't leak like that from dead bodies," said Osei with a mounting sense of dread. The blood was running from the pile of mutants like a stream onto the floor, but it went unnoticed by the naval commissar and his armsmen in their jubilation. It was beginning to swirl and move on its own, moving in ways that it should not have.

"Back," said Stanton suddenly and sternly. "Get back now!" he yelled to his Korpsmen. They didn't question or wonder at the order, simply obeyed and quickly back peddled away from the front of blood and they would keep moving until they were ordered to stop.

"Get out of there!" shouted Osei to the naval commissar standing atop of the barricade. He looked questioningly at Stanton and seemed bewildered at the way the Korpsmen were acting. He didn't have long to be bewildered though, a pillar of blood shot up behind him and moved like a serpents head, drawing in all of the blood from both the dead mutants and the dead armsmen. It moved through the air in sickly vibrant streams now, giving it new girth and height until it towered over all of those present. It swirled and pulsed, moved as if the very blood had come alive with malevolent intent.

The naval commissar stared at it in wonder, his dark purple eyes wide with both horror and fascination. His powersword held loose at his side, forgotten in his wonder.

"Shoot it!" he finally cried. "Make it feel the Emperor's wrath!" Stutters of weapons fire traced their way up the pillar of blood as dumbstruck armsmen obeyed their commissars frantic command. The dimples made by the passing bullets soon filled in though, the bullets having no more effect on it than it a lasgun would on the hull of a battleship.

The blood formed into the shape of a serpents head and with an open mouth and ruddy red fangs it fell over the commissar. He screamed and fired his bolt pistol to the last, but the bolts just passed through and exploded on the bulkhead. The serpents head of blood burst as it consumed the commissar and spread like a virus, consuming and grabbing armsmen with bloody tendrils and pulling them into the mass, only for it to grow.

The armsmen broke and ran, firing as they went, only to be consumed and drawn shrieking into the hellish maelstrom. Armor crunched, bones broke, and flesh ruptured as the daemon controlled substance reaped its grisly harvest. No one who had been at the barricades escaped it as it crashed down on them like a tidal wave and lashed out like tendrils of a more intelligent, but maniacal beast.

Just before the tide of blood reached the Korpsmen who had back tracked a great length of deck, it moved back in on itself like a tide and formed a great swirling bubble of death. It then moved into smaller swirls of blood, until finally they started to form human like shapes, the blood feeding their forms and disappearing as they became more full. With a final pulse, the remaining blood burst out like pus from a pimple and rushed down the hallway, reddish pink mist obscuring the former defensive positions.

The blood reached the Korpsmen, but it was lifeless now and inert. A deep, dark red that quickly turned a crusty brown as if all the life force had been sucked out of it. With a crack and a crunch, a Korpsman removed his boot from the large scab and shook his boot to try and clear it. His eyes snapped up, as did every other Korpsman's eyes as harsh, melodic laughter echoed down to greet them. It picked at their sanity and stung like a thousand bees, straining against the iron bars of Korps discipline and faith.

A sheen of sweat stood out on Stanton's face, and his moustache drooped as it became sodden with sweat. His teeth clenched and his face fixed in an almost feral snarl.

"God Emperor save us," he whispered under his breath. As the mist cleared, dozens of daemons stood, their eyes glowing purple with Ethereal energies and hate beyond all understanding. They were daemons cast in the form of beautiful women of lilac skin, with hair the colour of ebony, ruby, gold, and diamond. They were fearsomely tall, as tall as even the fabled space marines, but much more graceful. They were every mans dream and every boys fantasy, as well as their nightmare. Some were near perfect copies of beautiful women, and others were horrible parodies with thick crustacean claws for arms and horns rising from their heads like a prize auroch. They laughed and giggled like all was a big joke, armed with razored whips and swords of the most elegant design. Some were clad in vestiges of armour or clothing and others still were bare and naked. A riot helmet with a broken blast visor bounced to a rest at the feet of Colonel Stanton.

"See the true face of the ruinous powers!" shouted Osei gesturing with his chainsword. "They are what you have been warned against your entire lives, they are the temptation and evil that has plagued the Emperor and his glorious Imperium for millennium. This is your chance Korpsmen of the 12th heavy siege regiment, a chance to prove your worth against our most hated enemy. Show them that you are worthy of the Korps, show them the depth of your devotion, show them that you are worthy or atonement!" There was a rustles of wood on flak armour as the sharpened handles were put into a rough phalanx. Muscles tense, hearts beating wildly, the 12th Heavy Siege Regiment was about to be blooded for the first time in combat against daemons, armed only like peasant levies from ancient Terra.

"By the centre quick, march!" bellowed Stanton in his best parade ground voice and the Korpsmen began moving forward in perfect step towards the forces of the ruinous powers, who laughed and giggled, sampling whatever blood was left like fine wine. They showed no alarm at the approaching Korpsmen, if anything they seemed pleased by it.

"How much farther?" asked Erich, scanning the area ahead of him with the barrel of his shotgun.

"Not much," said Gina crisply. Even when Erich was polite, when his field of null was active he seemed to be the most snide and flippant person that Gina had ever met and that was saying something. It was like every word he said and everything he did was meant to cause offence.

"Did I really have to put this on?"asked Gina pulling at the high collared grey jumpsuit that they had found in a storage locker That had also found a black balaclava that when pulled down, perfectly covered her neck. "It itches, and my boots are too tight."

"Your boots fit just fine, you're just not used to wearing any."

"How do you know?" demanded Gina.

"I know because they fit and because of the fact that I checked to make sure that they did. Trust me, Korpsmen know something about boots." Gina huffed at this.

The maintenance ducts were low and narrow, causing Erich to have to stoop to move through, but they were at least well lit with blue lights. Bare metal, wires and cables with seals of the adeptus mechanicus, and pipes were the only thing other than them in the ducts.

"I guess I'm not being very grateful," said Gina after they had travelled again for some time in silence.

"How so?" asked Erich.

"Well, I mean to begin with I'm a mutant right?"

"You are also one of the Emperor's faithful," said Erich.

"Yeah, but I mean anyone else would have just ignored me or killed me once all of this started but you helped me, why?"

"You needed help," said Erich simply.

"Yeah, but again I'm a mutant by definition. You really shouldn't be helping me, the armsmen who was on deaths door was worth more than me, but you still chose to protect me."

"You had a higher chance of survival and could move without aid. Logically you were the best choice," answered Erich quickly.

"Look, even talking about this makes you uncomfortable, when I say that I'm a mutant, you tense and get uncomfortable, but it's what I am."

"There are treatments," said Erich offhandedly.

"What, and who's going to pay for them? I don't have that kind of money and my mutation isn't superficial, it's why I'm called a mutant. Granted, I'm much better off than most others like me, but that still doesn't change the fact. So really, who's going to pay for a medicae to pass me off as a regular human?"

"I could."

"Why, why would you do that? What have I done that's so great that would make you shell out that kind of eagle?"

"You were kind," said Erich quietly.

"That's it, that's why you're helping me?" asked Gina surprised.

"I have precious few to call friend Gina, but I have a great excess of money and resources. I consider you a friend and I will protect those whom I consider important to me with my life if necessary and do all I can to assist them. In the ensuing confusion after all this is over with, you will have a chance to pass yourself off as a rating or as one of the bands that follows regiments around war zones hoping to profit from them. You can jump ship to a civilian one and go somewhere where they have no record of you. I do not delude myself on your chances of staying hidden for a long period of time, but you will have a time of peace. Make no mistake, I am conflicted in helping you and part of me is screaming at me to purge you, but I will not do it. Perhaps I am sinning and perhaps I am already irrevocably corrupted, but I will not betray those who gave me kindness where none was do. I will not betray those who are my friend, regardless of the risks."

"So for a few hours a day of talking or eating, you're willing to risk death as a heretic to help me?" Erich didn't answer that.

"I don't know what to say."

"You could stop talking," answered Erich.

Amy was lost in the feeling of riding down a dirt rode in the back of a cart like at the scholam when she finally came to. They would bounce and jolt in the back of that rickety old cart on their way down the rutted dirt path to the training fields. Up and down, jolting and creaking the cart would keep moving, pulled by the tired old nag Princess, and driven by an even wearier indentured servant that everyone just called Uncle Dave.

When she opened her eyes, Amy found that she was slung over Daniels shoulder and that they were at a deck a level higher than the one they were supposed to be on. Her head hurt, and the flesh by her eye was sensitive to the touch and tweaked a little in pain every time she blinked. The metal flooring was rolling by underneath her, and a strong arm was keeping her in place. She must have moved more than she thought, because Daniels started talking to her.

"So how do you feel?"

"Like shit," said Amy brusquely. "Put me down please, I can still walk."

"Such manners," teased Daniels.

"I'm not in the mood," snapped Amy and Daniels put her down.

"That frecking asshat," raged Amy in a subdued voice. "I'm going to shoot him for this, I swear I'm going to kill him. I'm tired of all of this crap, I'm going to find him and put a bolt in his head," she seethed. "He hit me, he frekking hit me. Not just ingored me, he frekking him me," finished Amy vehemently and began picking up speed to get to the front of the column of Catachan.

"Actually Amy, I've got something to tell you."

"What?" said Amy turning on Daniels in a rage.

"Harding said that if you do anything at all that upset him, even once he was going to kill you."

"Not if I kill him first," retorted Amy.

"Dammit, you're not listening Amy, he'll kill you if you even go near him. He know you're mad, expects you to come after him. In fact, I think he's hoping that you will so that he can kill you."

"If he didn't kill me back there where there were no witnesses, there's no way he's going to do it where there are armsmen." Indeed, they were passing by checkpoints of armsmen, and there appeared to be a naval security trooper leading the Catachans.

"He didn't kill you, because a long time ago I pleaded with him to let you live and that you wouldn't be a problem."

"How long ago?" asked Amy sharply.

"Amy," began Daniels.

"How long!" demanded Amy, her blue eyes blazing.

"Since the night that Commissar Antolo died," answered Daniels finally.

"Bastard," raged Amy and punched him in the chest. Daniels took the hit and drew Amy in close to him as she spent her anger.

"You're a bastard," she said into his chest, struggling to pull away as they kept moving. They were in the middle of the column and all but invisible to anyone else, safe from prying eyes and unwelcome questions. No one in the regiment would say a word, because the punishment for a commissar and a guardsman being together was also very severely punished throughout the entire regiment.

"I know," said Daniels.

"I hate you," she said.

"I know."

"I hate this regiment."

"I know," answered Daniels and held her as the few sobs came and went.

When she finally pulled away because she didn't need him anymore and not out of anger, Daniels let her go.

"I want to transfer regiments," she said at last. "I'll take you as my aide and we'll just find another one to go to."

"Which one would we go to? Every regiment needs a commissar and I doubt that they're going to let you leave until the 8th has another one.

"I'm a cadet commissar, I'm not even supposed to be in charge," protested Amy. "I'm supposed to observe and be learning how to be a commissar, learning. Not being threatened by the regimental commander and sure as warp not having to fear for my life every time I close my eyes."

"Well, there aren't really any other regiments that have an opening," said Daniels. "They all have their commissars and the paperwork to switch regiments could take months to complete, years if the munitorum screws up the paperwork."

"I don't have years," said Amy crestfallen. "I probably don't even have a month left, especially with Harding looking for an excuse to get me out of the picture. It wasn't supposed to be like this, being a commissar isn't supposed to be like this."

"Commissar's aren't exactly well like," said Daniels.

"I know but-"

"Most of the time, the average lasman wants his commissar dead because the commissar is either trying to get him killed or is the one actually trying to kill him."

"But I'm not like that," protested Amy. "I try and help them, and I never ask them to do something that I'm not willing to do myself. I mean, I'm not the most imposing, but that doesn't mean that they should ignore me. I'm not the stereotypical cold blooded killer commissar who doesn't flinch away from anything and shoots guardsmen out of hand."

"You're also a girl," said Daniels.

"What the hell does that matter?"

"People don't see you as threatening and these aren't little aquilla scouts who can be scared into submission by an angry glare. These are men who live war, who've each killed before the time they could walk. Death doesn't scare them, they're accustomed to it and they're wild."

"I know men from Catachan can be wild," said Amy smirking.

"No I mean it, we're very free spirited. We hate being told to do something by someone just because we're supposed to respect them because of a few gold stripes or a fancy hat. We hate it. We grew up on a world where your worth was determined by how many things you could kill and how much pain you could take and laugh off. There is no room for weakness on Catachan, only those who can survive by their own merits are valued."

"So what, I have to wrestle a daemon and win to get some respect around here?"

"It would help, but they still wouldn't respect you."

"Why not?"

"Because they saw you as weak before and they saw you back down, they saw your fear. Fear in anathema among Catachan regiments, once you show it, you've lost all respect and they've gotten used to being able to push you around. So, you could get a Catachan regiment to respect you, just not this one."

"That's stupid," said Amy in a huff to which Daniels laughed.

"Maybe it is, but that's the way it's going to be."

"What's really going to suck though is how I'm going to explain why we pulled out of our position. No doubt Harding's going to say that I said it was okay and if I say I didn't; they shoot him, I get charged with failure to do my duty, and then probably lynched by the rest of the regiment. If I say that I did, I still get shot for get this, dereliction of duty. I'm dead either way, I'm a dead girl walking."

"I'll keep the other guys off of you," said Daniels."

"Now who's the one doesn't understand?" asked Amy with a sad grin. "I'm dead."

"Okay, we're almost there," said Gina with moving ahead somewhat awkwardly with her new boots. "How do you walk in these?" she complained holding up one of her feet. "They're so heavy and it's like I've got a sack tied to each of my feet and I can't keep my balance, I can't even feel the deck underneath me."

"You'll get used to it," said Erich thumbing a new shell into the shotgun. They had found a couple of more feral mutants who had decided to attack them and now Erich was dangerously low on ammo. An extra two in addition to the fifteen in the shotgun and a couple of clips for the auto pistol. They had entered the main corridors again and were moving towards a set of ladders that passed between decks that would let get off this one and hopefully to one with a more Imperial presence.

"I guess," said Gina then smiled. "I can't believe that we've made it, I mean daemons, ferals, and everything else and we survived. It's kind of incredible isn't it?"

"We haven't made it yet," said Erich. Keep your guard up until all of this is over. There are still dangers here and that daemon is still probably looking for us."

"Yeah, but you're a blank spot right? She can't see us."

"Can you not see a hole in the painting just because it isn't part of the picture?" asked Erich.

"No, well, yeah you can," said Gina.

"A particularly skilled manipulator of the warp can find us by looking for the blank spot that I make just as it could by looking for our psychic signatures. Though admittedly it is a great deal harder and would take one who had nigh mastered the ways of the warp."

"How do you know all of this?" asked Gina. "I mean, I know nothing about what's going on and yet you hear one little detail and you know exactly what's going on. So, how do you know all of this?"

"I am an untouchable Gina, I know the limits of my own power and how the psychic powers interact with mine. It is simply something I have had to learn to stay alive."

"Yeah, but how?"

"It is considered rude to ask someone such personal questions Gina, especially ones such as this."

"You asked if I was a virgin," pointed out Gina.

"That had a purpose," said Erich.

"Like what?"

"Well for instance, now I know you're a virgin," said Erich trying to avoid bringing up his less than sanctioned education.

"Okay if you don't want to talk about it I suppose it doesn't matter," said Gina. "But why are you talking so much? I thought that talking brought out the ferals and daemons and stuff."

"I talk, because it seems that it doesn't matter whether we do or not and either way if they want to find us they will. The other reason I have is because it keeps both you and me calm."

"Keeps you calm?" asked Gina Surprised. She had managed to more or less ignore the untouchable bubble, but it took conscious effort and she had to think about everything she said before she said it. It made conversation possible though and actually pleasant.

"Yes, I am actually very uncomfortable being down here with daemons and feral mutants. It is really quite unpleasant in the extreme."

They were walking by what looked like a kitchen of sorts with a dumbwaiters built into the walls to send food further up into the ship. Little metal inlets powered by mechanical means that still had the mechanicus seals of proper functionality. Some were actually quite large and looked like they could fit a small person in them, most likely used to send up food for some of the officers messes. The lighting was very poor here, with only a couple of dull white lights still functioning and spaced far apart.

"Wow," said Gina shaking her head. "So, how do I use this pistol again?" asked Gina holding out the pistol that Erich had given her. He had found another on a dead armsman and had given Gina the belt and the gun.

"Well, muzzle control," said Erich turning the gun away from him.

"Sorry," said Gina sheepishly.

"This is the grip, trigger, trigger guard, front sight, rear sight, safety, action, muzzle, and this is how you switch the magazines," said Erich sliding out the magazine before slamming it back in. "Put the front sight in the V of the rear and when you see what you want to shoot, squeeze the trigger to shoot, don't jerk. Aim low and do not switch it to full auto, you'll only waste the rounds. Understand?"

"I think so," said Gina taking back the pistol and looking at it like some kind of alien object.

"Good," said Erich and kept walking. Gina looked up from her pistol and saw something out of the corner of her eye near a serving counter. There were lots of open areas and cafeteria seating areas around them and most of them shrouded in darkness. Mostly overturned chairs and tables in deserted rooms. She couldn't see what was in them, but darkness couldn't hurt someone, but what was in the darkness could.

Before Gina could voice her concerns to Erich, the dark shape sprang silently from behind the serving counter straight for Erich. It had a small torso with long arms and legs that looked pink and raw with wide, wild eyes and the sunken look of something that has been starved too long.

It impacted Erich and if not for the grunt of surprise from Erich, it would be like nothing had happened at all. They struggled in near silence for this mutant did not hiss or shriek and it did not rage as the others had, it just grabbed at him. Erich couldn't bring his shotgun to bear on the mutant, so he let it hang limp from the strap as he reached behind him and grabbed at the mutant.

The mutant tried to bite him and latched onto his arm, sinking its teeth into the flak armoured sleeve. With what appeared to be no more than a shrug, Erich threw the mutant to the floor in front of him and stomped down on its throat. It clawed at his boot with long, thin fingers and its eyes bulging in its head. Erich rested the muzzle of the shotgun on its forehead and pulled the trigger.

The mutants head disintegrated into chunks of bone and grey matter, staining Erich's boots and fatigues with blood. He then worked the action of his shotgun and put one of the last remaining shells into the chamber.

"That was unexpected," mused Erich to himself.

"Hey, what happened to the null?"

"What?" asked Erich?

"The null, I don't feel it anymore," said Gina with a note of apprehension in her voice.

Erich looked down at his wrist to see that his bracelet was turned as far as it could go in the _limit_ position. The mutant obviously having turned it when it was grappling with him. Grabbing it between his thumb and forefinger, Erich attempted to turn it back to where it would keep them in a field of null. It wouldn't budge. Erich began straining against the bracelet, but it was almost as if it was magnetized and wouldn't move.

"What's going on?" asked Gina.

Erich looked up to see the breath in front of Gina's face frost in the air.

"I am _very_ tired of this game pet. You and your hidden one have so tried my patience."

Softly padding feet sounded on the metal decking as the greater daemon of Slannesh came into view. Her eyes easily perceptible even in the gloom and as she stepped into the light, there was no trace of any of the damage from before that the shotgun had inflicted upon her, as well as all traces of amusement gone from her face. Her. It was interesting how quickly titles were given to something if they resembled something real.

"Get back daemon!" shouted Gina moving quickly away from it and behind Erich.

"Really? Well just who is doing the backing away from whom?" asked the greater daemon, a Cheshire grin spreading across its face, making it look even more inviting. She frowned as Gina grabbed hold of Erichs wrist onto bare skin.

"Ah and then you had to go and complicate things my pet, why would you do that?"

"I'm not your pet!"

"Oh? So brave when you have a hidden one to hide behind, but I wonder just how brave you would be if I ripped him to pieces in front of you and violated you on his corpse? Oh? What's this? No words of defiance from you now?"

"I'll never agree to anything you want daemon," said Gina defiantly.

"And I sincerely hope that you don't, it's so much more fun when they resist. That's when I get to have my real _fun_. I must say though that as much as I enjoyed chasing you I'm afraid that the time has now come for the ringmaster to collect her performers and claim her prize. Oh, if only my ladies hadn't decided that they were going to go through with their own plan and try to claim the ship and its souls for themselves instead of serving their mistress like they were supposed to. Well, I have a very big surprise for them," said the Daemon as she snapped her fingers.

A blue flame came into being at the tip of her finger, bright and hot yet it did her no harm. She brought it to her lips and gave it a kiss, before blowing it and watching the flame shoot off like a panicked bird and move through the decking like it was merely an illusion, for in a way it was.

"That should give them something to scream about," said the daemon as she smiled. "Tell you what mutant, I will make you a deal. You give yourself to me peacefully and I will spare your friend here and let him leave with his life. Would you like that? I'll even throw in the lives of everyone else on this ship. You would get to save a life and sacrifice yourself for the rest of the mortals on this ship. You would save thousands with such a noble sacrifice. Doesn't that sound good? Doesn't that sound worth it, or is your life more valuable than everyone's life? Are you really that greedy?"

"Well, you promise that you won't hurt Erich or anyone else?" asked Gina tentatively.

"I promise that I will leave and harm no one else," said the daemonnette.

"Then, yes, I agree," said Gina. But as she made to let go, Erich gripped her more firmly so she couldn't.

"The only words that a daemon speaks is lies and heresy," said Erich, a steely, diamond hard tone in his voice. One in which there was no compromise and there was no give. "A daemon will never tell the truth."

"And what will you do to stop me, spawn of Jurgen?"

Erich knew what he had to do, what he had been putting off doing. What he had somehow known that he would have to do since this whole thing had begun. What had been necessary as soon as the daemonnette had found them. He knew what he had to do, what duty demanded that he do. He steeled his resolve and calmed his mind for what would come to be. There had only ever been one outcome to something like this and now the time had finally come to put it into action. He braced himself for the coming pain.

There was a hissing rasp as the mono sword cleared its scabbard, glinting menacingly in the low light of some nameless piece of identical ship corridor. The daemon laughed high and clear, musical even before her glittering eyes hardened like diamonds.

"And what exactly do you intend to do with that pointy piece of metal mortal, kill me? You can't kill a daemon with that." A look of confusion crossed her features as Erich cast off one of his gloves.

"What are you-"

Erich drew the mono edged sword across his hand and hot bled welled up as the blade easily cut his flesh. Erich then turned quickly and pressed his bleeding hand to Gina's face, transferring untouchable blood to her face, and thus the very essence of his being, his null, transferring with his blood.

"RUN!" shouted Erich bringing his shotgun to his shoulder and letting loose a round of flechettes.

"NO!" shrieked the daemonnette as the razor sharp flechettes found their mark and tore off great chunks of flesh that had never been conceived in the natural world. Her once angelic features twisted in an expression of inhuman rage and loathing. Gina's boots pounded quickly on the deck as she ran, invisible tendrils of warp power unable to touch her or find purchase, for the untouchable blood that adorned her face kept them at bay.

The daemonnette took off at an impossibly fast pace, her flesh knitting back together as if it were water that someone had cast a stone into. Still, for every step she took a clutch of flechettes took her and slowed her progress. Erich was firing as fast as he could and for every shot he fired, the daemonnette stumbled.

Erich fired again, only to watch as his shot was deflected by pure warp energy that flashed purple and red, the daemonnette was less that ten steps away now. Picking up his sword, Erich prepared to meet the greater daemon of Slannesh and kill it if at all possible. When it reached him, it tried to bound over him, but Erich swung his sword and took off its leg at the knee and it fell heavily to the ground. Had the ceiling been higher it would have cleared him with no problem, but as it was, there simply was not enough room.

It hit with a resounding crash, and as it tried to rise, it's leg forming from nothing, Erich jumped upon its back and gripped on with his bloody hand. The daemonnette screamed in either rage or pain at his touch, maybe both and grabbed at him. Erich drove the point of his mono edged sword through its back and hot, daemonic blood bubbled out and burned burned like acid against his heavy greatcoat. The sword though, eroded away to nothing even with his untouchable powers stilling her daemonic ones. Finally, the daemonnette grabbed him in one hand and ripped him off her back.

It brought him around to its face and bit his face with mono sharp teeth and still gripping him, threw him away, his masking ripping free from his face as the straps were either broken or severed by the daemonnette's teeth. Erich hit the wall with a thud and a dull crunch before falling to the floor inert.

The daemonnette hissed as it literally clawed the flesh from its body that had Erich's blood on it. The shreds of flesh burned away in bright pink fire as they touched the decking, but already the daemonnette's flesh was regenerating, but her powers were weak now and there was no way for it to catch Gina. Her time was nearly up now and if it didn't return to the warp soon, it would remain adrift and cast off from the whole, as weak and powerless as the lowliest of daemons.

A pop, and a bullet entered her flesh. Several more followed and each impacted her flesh bringing with it a measure of pain that was nothing compared to that of time in the warp. The daemonnette turned and saw the young sire of Jurgen shooting at her with a pistol, blood staining his teeth and the pistol extended in his grip. It fired again and it hit her between the eyes, marring her face before the flesh knitted back together and made her whole again. She smiled.

A flurry of shots erupted from the end of the pistol and spurts of blood all over her body marked the places where the rounds hit, before they too healed. Pain was but another form of pleasure for those who sought it and she sought all forms of pleasure, and she enjoyed each as much as the other. She strutted over to the wounded sire of Jurgen as he struggled to change the magazines in his pistol. She swayed her hips and stood over him. He was a large one, and not all that ugly, handsome even if not for the scar on his face. He would have made a good toy, had he not had the misfortune to be one of the hidden ones. The things she could have shown him.

Erich felt as the daemonnette's hand close around his throat and steel ringed gorget. A daemon's flesh was a strange thing to feel. Unnatural, hot, unwanted, perhaps as his own touch felt. Blood dribbled down his chin as the daemonnette lifted him first from the floor, then from his feet until he was level with her head, his feet dangling a good foot and a half from the deck plating. Blood gurgled in his throat as he stared defiantly at the daemonnette in front of him, his helmet having been torn from his head in the struggle, so now he could feel the daemons hot breath over his scalp. It was like the air from the smeltery, dry, hot, and suffocating.

"You've cost me my prize mortal. I am not happy," said the daemonnette simply.

"Emperor take your soul and burn it," gurgled Erich.

"Perhaps one day, but for now I think I'll kill you and wait for this wretched untouchable filth to leave your soul and then torment you for eternity. It may take some time, but I'm willing to wait."

Erich met her glowing eyes and stared directly into them, daring her to kill him, daring her to fight him even in his state. She stared right back, then smiled as if seeing something interesting.

"It looks like I've caught a little lord in my grasp, a prince without its kingdom and oh my you are not happy at all," said the daemonnette clicking her several times tongue and giggling. "Oh I'm sure if you could break free you'd rend me limb from limb and do all sorts of nasty things wouldn't you little prince, trapped in your prison as you are like a mewling newborn? Oh, you really didn't like that did you?" she giggled again.

"Burn in hell daemon," rasped Erich. "A von Shreider will never be claimed by one such as you."

"We've claimed von Shreiders before, you'll just be taken on a later date. Now, how about a kiss?"

Erich struggled, but the daemonnette held him flush against the wall and leaned in, large lustrous lips forming to kiss. "I am Pashin," breathed the daemonnette as its lips met with Erich's. Her lips were soft and warm and were like putty and her tongue was just as blissful, at least until it sampled his untouchable blood.

Retching and gagging, the daemonnette released him and fell back choking. It slowly fell to the ground, steam rising from its body as it began to shrink in on itself. Foolish daemon, he was anathema for being of the warp, its lapse had sealed its fate. Erich left his shotgun where it lay, for he only had a single round left for it and went the way that Gina had, only stopping to retrieve his mask that was damaged beyond all repair and his helmet. He set a slow and measured pace down the hall, nursing his torso. He would later learn that he had refractured four of his ribs and that one had punctured his lung. He was also told that he had a remarkable healing rate and constitution.

The Korpsmen levelled their improvised spears and made ready to charge the daemonnettes arrayed before them.

"Charge!" bellowed Stanton revving his chainsword and firing his bolt pistol into the nearest daemonnette. The thud of the heavy boots intensified as the Korpsmen broke into a sprint, keeping in line and keeping the spears level. The daemonnettes also rushed them, whips lashing and swords flashing as they laughed maniacally. Just before the two sides met, the daemonnettes broke out into bright blue flame and shrieked horribly, high and shrill. That didn't stop the Korpsmen though.

They drove their spears into the flaming bodies of the daemonnettes, stabbing and slashing even as their spears burned away to nothing. When the daemonnettes had burned away to nothing, the Korpsmen stomped on their ashes and then parted as the regimental confessors arrived to pour holy water on the remains. They hissed and bubbled as the holy water mixed with them, until they dissolved away to nothing.

Osei made the sign of the aquilla and oversaw the consecration of all the Korpsmen. Stanton had disappeared and when Osei went looking for him, found him sprawled out in his quarters, a half empty bottle of amnesiac in his hand and slurring the words to some Praetorian marching hymm. Osei helped him to his to his feet and helped him stagger into his chair. He was a mess, but he had saved them all from the daemonic magic. So it was with mixed feelings that Osei called for a medicae to attend Stanton and then made sure that no one else saw him like this. It would undermine Stanton's authority to command and no doubt see to it that he was relieved of his command and either shot or imprisoned. Stanton was a good man, but Stanton had to see it too. Osei went to go look for something to do.

"So commissar, you gave the order to pull the Catachan 8th Jungle Fighters from the fight?" asked a naval commissar in a deep blue uniform.

"Yes sir," said Walker after a moments hesitation. "I did," she could feel Harding's bionic eye boring into her as she said it.

"You do realize that because of your actions the regiment next to you suffered 43% casualties?"

"No sir, I didn't," said Walker, her blue eyes downcast. 43% losses. How many was that? It depended on the size of the regiment of course, whether the regiment had a 1000 or 750 000, it was still too much, and all because she couldn't stand up to Harding, still couldn't stand up to him.

"You do know what the punishment is for a failure of this magnitude is right?" asked the naval commissar, his aged face lined and the colour of mocha.

"Yes sir, I do," Walker tensed as the commissar pulled out his bolt pistol. She had merely thought imprisonment would be the penalty, not death. Her pupils narrowed to pinpricks in fear as the bolt pistol halted in front of her forehead and she broke out into a light fearful sweat. She shut her eyes as the commissar switched off the safety.

"I don't believe that that will be necessary," said a deep familiar voice. Walker opened her eyes and saw the Krieg commissar holding the naval commissar's pistol off to the side away from Walkers head. She wiped the sweat away from her face that had become pale in fear, but which the colour was returning.

"Who are you?" asked the naval commissar shaking off Osei's hand.

"I am Commissar Jamal Osei of the Krieg 12th Heavy Siege regiment and I am here to tell you that this commissar here would not have ordered her regiment to withdraw. New and frightful she may be, but she is no coward."

"Look I don't know why you think that this is any of your business, but my commissar ordered me to pull my regiment out."

"Did she?" asked Osei raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, she did," said Harding.

"Would you mind explaining why she had a bruise by her eye Colonel? I am so very curious about that."

"Got hit in the melee," said Harding easily.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Commissar, why is there a bruise on your face?" asked Osei turning to Walker.

"Well uhh, umm," said Walker weighing the possible consequences of telling the truth and dying at the hands of the Catachan and lying and dying at the hands of the commissariat. Finally deciding that a slim chance at life was still a chance, Walker decided to tell the truth.

"Harding hit me when I tried to make him keep his regiment in place and knocked me unconscious and threatened to kill me if I ever tried to influence his command again," said Walker quickly and could practically feel the hate radiating off of Harding.

"Colonel how do you plead to these charges?" asked Osie civilly.

"You bitch!" raged Harding going for his fang.

"Good enough for me," said Osei quick drawing his bolt pistol and painting the bulkhead with his Harding's remains.

"You've killed me."

"What?" asked Osei.

"You've killed me," repeated Walker dumbly. "The regiments going to kill me for this. Now, later, they're going to kill me. I might just slip in the shower or have a grenade land at my feet. Why? Why did you do that? Why!?" shouted Walker. "Why did you kill me!?"

"You fear for you safety in your regiment?"

"They're going to kill me!"

"Then I'm transferring you to mine."

"You- wait, what?"

"I'll handle the paperwork later, but a cadet commissar has no place being in a Catachan regiment. I imagine that your mentor met a rather grisly fate?"

"Yes, yes he did."

"Then you'll be safe in my regiment, at least from the soldiers. The Kriegers will never turn on you or try and kill you, if anything they'll revere you as the Emperor's will. It's flattering, but don't let it go to your head. If you have an aide, you can bring him along and I'll send some Korpsmen for your belongings if we can."

"Thank you, oh thank you!" exclaimed Walker jubilantly hugging Osei, who for his part did well to look surprised and his naval counterpart cleared his throat.

"While Cadet Commissar, you have my most sincere apologies. But now it would seem as though we have some paperwork to fill out and a mess to clean up." Blood ran down the wall from Harding's remains.

Going into the infirmary, Osei passed a white haired void born rating who had been visiting his wounded Korpsman. She seemed the shy type and she pulled her duty cap low as she passed him. Apparently his Korpsman had kept her safe and brought her up from his deck. How he had survived and managed to keep someone else alive as well was remarkable, and the confessors had told him that he was free of any taint as was the rating as both had been doused with holy water with no ill effect and had easily recited the Emperor's prayers.

"How are you feeling HS-0817?" asked Osei as he once again sat beside the Korpsman who was also once again situated in a sickbed.

"This trooper is doing well Commissar, the medicae have informed it that it will be fit for full duty in two days time."

"That's good, that's good," said Osei half to himself. "Now I was hoping that you could tell me exactly what happened down there."

"This trooper did it's duty Commissar, nothing more."

"We've got a live one down here!" called a naval security trooper who was part of the sweep teams meant to clear the ship after it had exited back into real space.

"Mutant?"

"No armswoman, and she's still alive," called back the naval security trooper.

The armswoman was in a bloody uniform, with a shotgun not far from her outstretched hands. She was clearly hurt, with a stab wound that went all the way through her and was part of the reason that she was as bloody as she was. She was also beautiful. Pale skin, ebony black hair, and when the Naval security trooper rolled her over, full lips, long lashes, and golden eyes that fluttered open weakly before shutting.

"I need a medicae now!" called the naval security trooper again.

"Don't worry, you're safe now," said the trooper, putting an a bandage over her stab wound and giving her a shot of antibiotics.

"What's your name?" as asked tapping her on the cheek and was rewarded with golden eyes fluttering open.

"Pashin," managed the woman, before she lost consciousness.

AN: I've always seen Slannesh as the greatest threat to Krieg in terms of corruption. In my opinion, it's because the Kriegers deny themselves many of the desires that the rest of humanity indulge in, while Slannesh offers pleasures of every kind and many that are beyond understanding. It's a pretty big temptation for those who live in a culture where they have to restrain their emotions all of the time and live in a state of emotional abstinence. Though Khorne is pretty big too, because of the whole warrior culture. Also, how were the sword fights? I try and make them seem like you're actually watching them play by play like in a video, but I don't know if I'm really doing that. I've got this whole graceful, gentlemanly image of how Erich fights with a sword, almost with serene arrogance complete with flashy moves and only moving as much as he needs to in the fight. Always being calm and in control of what he does. Also, who liked the captain with the flying chair and heavy weapons? I thought it was pretty funny. I kind of rushed the end, but I didn't really feel that I needed to draw it out more. I think that the little quick snippets tied it up nicely and uh oh, I put another daemon into the mix. Should start getting interesting eh?


	5. 5 Steel and Blood

**Steel and Blood**

AN: Three quick notes that I have to make before the story gets underway. First, I've increased the number of fighting men and women, because frankly some of the numbers that I've read in books are just far too unrealistically low to take a planet. The second point is to address a review that I got about the daemon. The daemon was a greater daemon, but it was just a fragment of the whole daemon. So, Pashin is just a fragment of the much larger and more powerful daemon that is in the warp. My last point is that I messed up in chapter 4. I gave Walker a bolt pistol when she carries around a las pistol. My bad, sorry. Is von spelled Von with a capital or von in all lower case? I really don't know.

Sleep, a five letter word that was vital for human life and physical as well as mental well-being. When humanity had still been on Holy Terra, it had adapted to a day-night cycle consisting of a total of either 24 hours, 1420 minutes, or 85 200 seconds. The average adult human can survive and function on a minimum of six hours of sleep for extended periods of time if it becomes necessary. The recommended amount was eight hours and youths or the elderly regularly required more. Sleep and deep REM sleep allowed the body to recharge and sort out its chemicals and heal. Lack of sleep produces a chemical called cortisol and causes hypertension and memory impairment. If also affects moods, potentially causing anxiety, depression, stress, and difficulty concentrating and doing even everyday tasks. Erich hadn't slept in three days.

The shrill scream of a shell caused Erich to push himself just a little bit farther into the trench wall and felt the vibrations from the shell in his diaphragm as it exploded with a thunderous detonation and showered him with dirt that cascaded down from the top of the trench and ran off his helmet.. It had been a near miss, barely twenty metres from his position in the trench and hardly short. The vast majority of shells fell short or long of the trench line with very few ever landing in the trench itself. If a shell ever did land in the trench your life would end before you even realized it, so it didn't really matter. The damage would be localized with minimal casualties and the casualties that were suffered could be easily replaced from the secondary, tertiary, or reserve trench. Erich however, had the honour of being in the front line trench. A dozen more rounds hit near his position over the course of the next two seconds throwing up great mounds of dirt and filling the world with flame and flying steel. The sound blotted out thought and reason, the world shook and shuttered like the very ground was trying to rip itself apart.

The trenches were not straight as most people though, but instead they turned sharply and curved to limit damage from shrapnel, flamethrowers, and trench raiders. The top was ringed with concertina wire and antitank obstacles. Beyond those were S mines meant to kill instead of maim, and T mines intended to destroy or at least disable any armoured assault by the enemy. Though unfortunately, there were no mines in front of this trench. In the case of any assault though, the thud guns and earth shakers would break up any large concentrations of troops high priority targets such as a super heavy, or if the enemy was stupid enough, a command vehicle. A barrage of shells would pound whatever was attacking them into oblivion. If they made it past that, mortar fire from pits just behind the pit lines would fill the air full of shrapnel, burning promethium, and nerve agents. For those that made it closer, they would meet concentrated fire from multlas, bolter, heavy stubbers, and auto cannons in well defined fields of overlapping fire. If by some miracle, the enemy made it into the trench proper, they would be met by Krieg steel and fiery determination.

There were many enemies that the Imperium fought on countless worlds resulting in astounding victories or crushing defeats. Traitor marines, traitor guard, heretics, daemons, eldar, orks, tau, tyranids, and on occasion, other humans. Not to mention the countless other xeno empires that rose and fell like card houses, only to tumble in on themselves when the Emperor's judgement set its gaze on them.

Why the hive world of Athena II had rebelled was not known, nor was it necessary to know. All that was known, was that the world had gone from being a relatively peaceful and pious world, to one up in arms in just a matter of months. It was odd, because the world had been stable for centuries and the governor was fair and just in how he ruled, and was often called in to act as an intermediary for disputes between parties on other worlds. The riots had started after a rumour that taxes would increase on food stocks around the time of the Emperor's festival. The rumours had been false, but it had enraged the people and after several clashes with local law enforcement, riots had broken out in all major and even some minor hives around the planet. There was no sense to it, there was no great injustice that would warrant such upheaval, no great wrong that was being overlooked to anger the people so and in turn needlessly cause the death of millions. The only reason that Erich knew as much as he did, was because when he had still been in a punishment detail he had been in Colonel Stanton's office during the briefing polishing the Colonel's boots. That had been six months ago.

Six months. That was the amount of time that Erich had been in the trench fighting against rebel Athenian PDF in their ridiculous purple camouflage scheme. They stood out sharply against the backdrop of the cratered "no mans land," between the opposing armies and not a single one of their assaults had come even close to cracking the Krieg line. For six months he had been below the empty ceiling of open sky, fearing that he would fall into the open abyss. Anytime he looked up, his knees would grow weak and he would have to look back down at the dark earth and mud until he could calm himself.

Erich had found that he had been well chosen for his role of assault. Not only did it suit his natural aggressiveness, but it allowed him to move when he might otherwise have to sit for days on end, only able to move in He carried his trench mace in the special loop on his belt webbing and used it with deadly efficiency. Only around a foot and a half in length with a heavy steel head, it crushed skulls and broke bones with ruthless ease. In the tight confines of a trench, there was no room for finesse so the brute force that could be brought to bear with a mace was indeed welcome. It was also good for when you didn't want light to reflect off of a blade, and needed to kill an armoured sentry during a trench raid.

It seemed that Erich had a special skill for trench raiding, a grisly knack for taking lives in the dark. They would move at night near the wee hours of the morning before first light, never quickly, and never in large groups. Their enviro suits made them hard to detect on the thermal spectrum and if their enemy happened to have the equipment, hid their life signs. They moved slowly, methodically, and could stop on a moments notice if a flare was ever thrown up. Still, silent, they would wait until the dark returned before they continued their trek. They had a night vision function on their masks, but few ever chose to use it. What many considered dim and impossible to see in, Kriegers found it more than adequate. Generations of living underground and genetic manipulation had given them excellent night sight. At the cost of sensitivity to light though and so they hid their sensitive eyes, behind tinted lenses set in expressionless brass masks. Sometimes, if in the dark and you shone a light into a Krieger's eyes they would reflect like those of a feline, just not as brilliantly. The second before the Krieger beat you for shining a light in their eyes of course.

When they did get to the enemy trenches they only did a little damage. Not enough to alert the others, but enough so that when the rest of their contingent got up in the morning they would see that the 12th Heavy Siege Regiment had paid them a visit. They would kill a few sentries, cut some wire, break a few machine guns be they las or hard round, and just let the Athenians know one thing. You are never safe from us. When they slept, they had a smile from ear to ear in the morning. When they dug a trench for a latrine, it would soon be filled with soldiers caught unawares. When they ate, their corpses soon fed the rats. They kept them on edge, nervous, and fearful of what soldiers 2/3 the age of their youngest lasman would do to them. They would always be gone by morning though, disappearing like ghouls into the night after feasting on their victims. The Athenians tried to do the same to the 12th, but in the morning their raiders would be in full view of the Athenian lines, crucified onto large polymer crosses. Krieg fought not only the arm of the enemy, but their mind as well.

Many saw Krieg as cruel and even inhuman in how they waged war and went about killing, but the Krieg idea of war was very clear on the distinction between enemy and friend. A friend was someone who would stand at your side, who was loyal to the Emperor and his Imperium, someone who they were sworn by their very soul to defend to the death. Someone who would do the very same for any other Imperial citizen. A Krieg regiment would die to a man to defend even the smallest hamlet of loyal Imperial citizens if so allowed. They would never question, never doubt, and shield them with their bodies if they had to. However, if let loose into a traitor civilian populace with orders that allowed them free reign, none would be spared. An enemy wished for your death and you for his was very clear to them; there was no middle ground, no room for compromise, no room for mercy, and no room for softness. The fight would continue until every traitor element had been purged and every trace of disloyalty removed. Until each and every one of your enemies were dead, victory had not been achieved. Some called what the soldiers of Krieg did monstrous, they called it war. Such was the Krieg mindset. Though high command made a point of issuing strict orders of conduct for dealing with civilian populations on worlds that had rebelled, so much so that they were now standing orders for all Krieg regiments. A great scouring had not been done by the Death Korps in nearly a millennium, well, at least not without orders.

Erich was showered with dirt again when there was another near miss, and jumped when a piece of red hot metal embedded itself into the trench wall next to him. It stuck fast into the wall, glowing a deep cherry red. Erich watched as the metal cooled and slowly darkened before turning a dull black for something to entertain him as shells continued to rain down all around them. Some did hit in the trench line, but the vast majority missed and even the ones that hit only did localized damage that was easily repaired.

These trenches were of low quality, only having dirt walls and some flakboards to walk on to keep you out of the mud. Though when you were sitting in the third line of defence around the Athenian capital city you didn't complain too much, even if the Korpsman beside you had been dead for six hours. He had been hit by a piece of shrapnel like the one that had just nearly missed Erich, but instead of hitting dirt, it had penetrated the eye lens of his mask and killed him. Dry, crusty blood stained the front of the Korpsman's mask and his head was bowed over as if asleep. Erich hadn't known his name, or even his identification number, but the crossed swords pin on his lapel denoted him as also being in the assault company. This added to his guilt, because he had no doubt trained with the man and done the "dead weigh carry," and other team building exercises with him. No doubt they had even fought together in several trench raids and assaults. They had fought together, lived together, trained together, slept together, ate together, killed together, and survived together, yet he didn't even know his name. Erich found that it made it strangely easier to accept his death this way. He didn't know him, hadn't seen his face, wouldn't be able to pick him out of a crowd. Just another faceless and nameless Korpsman who had died in the Emperor's service. This was why the Korps could take losses and continue fighting when no other regiment could. If you didn't know the person, you wouldn't care nearly as much when they died. There were no bonds to break, only ties which were untied.

In time, the quartermaster would be by to strip him of his armour, his weapons, his mask, and take a chip from him. Later, his body would be burned and turned to ash, just as their ancestors before them had turned to ash. His ashes would be thrown to the wind, while his chip and those of the other fallen would be collected into individual glass phials and sent back to Krieg for proper internment. There were literally billions of chips in the Korps Hall of Remembrance, some of which were thousands of years old. From the first to the last, Krieg would not forget its Korpsmen who fell in the Emperor's name.

In a way, Erich was both envious and relieved. The man had atoned, he had repaid his debt to the Imperium and to the Emperor, which meant that from now on he would know only peace in the Emperor's glory. So for that, Erich was envious. Erich was relieved as well though, because it hadn't been him who had died which meant that he could still fulfil his oath and promise. There was also a small part of his that felt made him feel guilty for even thinking it. "I'm glad that I didn't die in such a worthless way." It was shameful, but it didn't make it any less true. In truth, Erich did not wish to do, he was not tired of life and its trials and joys, but he was willing to if it meant that it would secure victory or at least fulfil his duty. But he also had another duty which he had also sworn that he would complete. Erich's hand found its way to his gorget on its own and he rested his hand upon it.

It was a simple plas steel ringed ceramic collar, that protected his throat from being slit or having his windpipe crushed in a frantic melee, while still allowing him to move his head around freely even as it fit snugly against his throat. It was just one of the ingenious pieces of armour that the Korps had invented to help protect their soldiers on the field of battle and reduce mortality rates. It also protected his pendant.

A simple six pointed aquilla flush and warmed against his flesh that gave him a measure of peace in the world of raining shells and death. He thought of her often in times like this, where the only sound was the harsh whistle of shells and the even harsher detonations. Where death looked over his shoulder as if patiently waiting for the time when it would tap him on the shoulder and whisper in his ear that it was time to go. Where the only place that allowed him to think, was in the deep recesses of his mind. It put him at ease to think of her, but at the same time gnawed at his heart. He had wanted her, still wanted her more than anything else in the galaxy, yet he would not force the issue. He had made plain his desires and she had made plain that while she did indeed love him just as dearly, she just did not love him the same as he did her. And yet, it was at times like this that he withdrew into himself and thought of her, since he could not dream of her he found her in his waking dreams.

Erich gripped his rifle to his chest and ducked his chin into his chest as another shell threw a shower of dirt onto him. At this rate, he would be buried alive before the barrage was even over. If he lived to see the end of it of course. There was only a final defensive line outside the city before they were at the walls and void barriers. It was a massive hive, the towers scraping the heavens with their soaring peaks, protected from the steel rain of Krieg by the shimmering void shields that encompassed it. Blisters of fire had raged across its shimmering surface for weeks on end, until it was deemed to be a waste of ammunition, and not warranting the use of the atomic rounds the barrage had ceased. It would be left up to the infantry to take the defences outside the hive so that the generators and pylons could be disabled by eginseers and demolition teams. Assuming of course that they could get at the generators and pylons. They would probably have to use a Hades siege drill to dig under the void shield and get at it from behind. He would be depended on now to help lead the men, even in his limited role since his promotion to master corporal. The crossed swords above his double chevrons gave him authority and responsibility and with that responsibility came duty. He had been stoic, but jubilant when he received his promotion first to corporal, then again to master corporal. It was quietly understood that Erich wanted advancement and would not turn down a promotion as other Korpsmen might. It left a naggling daemon of doubt in him that he was only promoted by virtue of accepting it, but he would do his best to prove them wrong and show his worth. He would help his watchmaster to the best of his ability, and if was found wanting the Emperor would take him.

They had used the Hades to great effect in a series of lightning quick sieges on several of the lesser hives. They had only had minimal wall defences, more meant to hold off a raid from a xeno attack and hold for reinforcements than to hold off a determined army equipped with masses of artillery and siege engines. They had tunnelled under the wall and used small atomic mines to blast the void pylons and turn the wall to vapour and slag in an instant. They had poured across the breach and taken the hives in less than a week. There were still regiments in those hives taking the lower levels and quelling rioters and dissidents, but any organized resistance had been crushed. There had only been a skeleton force of PDF defending them augmented by the local law enforcement, or watch as they were called. The watch had put up a token resistance upon seeing the overwhelming strength of Imperial forces and were now being employed to help keep order.

The world of Athena II was ravaged by meteor storms on a regular basis in the summer and as a result all of the major hive cities had their own personal void shields. Expensive beyond all measure, the it made the adeptus mechanicus had just as much a claim on this world as the High Lords of Terra did. It was a strange marriage between the two, the populace owed its allegiance to the Imperial government, yet they also owed a debt of gratitude to the mechanicus. The political situation was intriguing, but at the same time irrelevant at the moment.

All that mattered, was that the capital hive of Olympus was built on what had once been a mountain range and was home to two billion people. It was an uphill fight the entire way into Olympus with the enemy having nearly every advantage including superior position, manpower, range for their guns, and yet for all that they could not break the siege of the Imperial Guard. The guard were the best warriors from every world in the Imperium, they were the people, they were the Emperor's hammer, they were his right hand, and they were an extension of his undying will. No simple heretic force could ever hope to overcome the zeal and iron discipline of the guard. No enemy could overcome the Korps. No enemy would ever break a Korps line, for the only time a Korps line broke was when there was no longer a line. The guard would never stop, never cease, never accept anything less than victory, because only victory was acceptable. Only victory would bring them glory, only victory would bring them atonement and faith in the Emperor's eyes. This had been an Imperial world and by the Throne of Terra, it would be again.

With no end to the barrage in sight and no immediate need to do anything other than just sit and wait, Erich retreated deep into the recesses of his mind. He found Elisha there, and he stayed there, happy and oblivious to the world of hellfire and explosions. He would find his peace within himself, but when the time came he would bring peace and forgiveness to the traitors of Olympus. From the muzzle of a lasgun and the point of his bayonet. But for now he would lose himself, if only for an instant.

Dirt fell from the ceiling and the lights flickered briefly in the command bunker of the 12th Heavy Siege Regiment as Stanton and Osei looked over a map detailing the deployment and positioning of their men, as well as the arrayed forces against them. It was well detailed on a portable projection table and rendered everything in three dimensions, showing not only what was in front and behind their forces, but below and above as well. They were discussing the finer points of strategy and where to concentrate their forces for the assault on the final defensive line outside the city. The now Junior Commissar Walker, was doing her best to get some sleep.

No matter how hard she tried to get to sleep, the constant noise and vibration kept her awake and on edge. Walker's biggest fear was not that a shell would land on their bunker and kill them, but that a shell would land on the bunker and merely trap them beneath tonnes of dirt, flakboards, polymers, and steel. Walker was secretly claustrophobic and the fact that she was forced to wear a Death Korps mask made her feel like she was suffocating every time she drew a breath, that split second delay where the air wouldn't come always panicked her. She would eventually forget about it and breath normally, but a single thought, something that brought her attention back to the mask would start the cycle of panic all over again.

It wasn't an extreme case of claustrophobia, indeed most of the time it was benign barely more than a simple uneasiness when moving in cramped places or in tight confines. Crowds didn't bother her, vehicle interiors didn't bother her, being on a ship didn't bother her, but being underground did. When she thought about it: walls closing in, room getting tighter, her chest unable to expand, unable to breath, unable to move, Walker involuntarily shuddered. She _hated _being underground just as she hated the Death Korps mask. Still, this was much preferable to being in a Catachan regiment. The Korpsmen weren't very enthusiastic which didn't really help her flagging self esteem, but they listened to her, and they respected her. They stood straight when she walked past and when they had been behind combat areas, they had adhered to every protocol and procedure in the book and never once had they insulted or belittled her. That raised her self esteem considerably.

Osei had been running her through drills with her chainsword when they had the time and had been instructing her on how to present herself as a commissar. She was to walk with her head held high, no hesitation in her step, adopt an unreadable expression, and how to use her voice to its greatest effect. How to raise it to be heard, how to put an edge in it, how to put in an undertone of threat, how to give praise, how to show gratitude while still being professional, and to project an aura of confidence when she herself felt none. It was fun, like being back at the scholam learning all the different maxims and how to keep the guardsmen in line without them shooting you in the back. There were two schools of thought on the matter. The first was that you were to remain aloof, an omnipresent angel of wrath and judgement that would punish cowardice and corruption with ruthless efficiency. It worked, but it required a special touch and could not be overdone or else you risked some guardsmen racking up a case of not so friendly fire. The second school of thought was that you were to integrate yourself into the regiment and cement yourself as an authority figure, but one who could be approached and talked with. The benefit with this approach was that it meant there was a far less chance of guardsmen swinging their barrels just a little too far. The downside was that if done wrong, it would completely undermine the commissars authority and leave them virtually powerless in a regiment. The latter had happened to walker in the 8th and she was determined not to make the same mistakes again. Still, having just turned 20 she had more than enough time to learn from her mistakes, especially with someone like Commissar Osei instructing her.

He was a good teacher, patient, intelligent, experienced, honourable, fair, and understanding. He could be hard if he wanted to, admantanium hard, but he was also lenient in the way that if you were trying he would do his absolute best to help you. Or, if you were fearful of something be it death, failing in your duty, missing home, or simply needed a friendly ear, he would be there for you until you felt better. He wouldn't judge when you told him your fears or worries, would merely listen and ask questions sometimes, but mostly he would stay silent and hear you out. He would ease your doubts and with his quiet words would fill you with confidence. As long as you gave it your unrestrained all, he would be there for you until the very. If you slacked or were found wanting, he would be as unrelenting as the Emperor's fury. He had no pity or patience for incompetents, fools, or those guilty of sloth. For those he saw as redeemable, he would work day and night to put them back on the path of the Emperor's favour. For those he didn't, a bolt round would be judgement enough. Very rarely had he ever found someone to be irredeemable, but there was always an exception.

Walker had yet to execute a guardsman or guardswoman for that matter for anything and she wasn't looking forward to the time when she inevitably had to do so. It wasn't something that a commissar looked forward to, at least a sane commissar. Summary execution or firing squad were to be used as a last resort in a discipline case or when your troops were breaking and they needed to fear you more than they feared the enemy. Sometimes, the commissar had to be the guards' worst nightmare, so they could face the real ones.

Walker took her mask and looked at it only to see two red slit lenses looking back at her. The Korp's masks had almost teardrop shaped lenses so that peripheral vision wouldn't be impaired when they were worn. Black for lasmen and nomcoms, green for officers, and red for commissars. It was finished in dull brass and was surprisingly heavy. Walker couldn't help but smirk a little, with this she would already be ten times as intimidating, if she didn't have a claustrophobic panic attack while wearing it.

Walker put down the mask and tried to make her comfortable again so that she could try and get some sleep. She put in some earplugs that she had taken from the artillery brigade attached to the 12th and it muted the pounding shells enough that she actually started drifting off to sleep. Just as she was at that stage of semi-aware almost asleep, a shell hit near the bunker and caused dirt to fall into her mouth.

Walker sat up with a start, coughing and sputtering, then spit on the ground several times trying to get the dirt out of her mouth. She took a swig of her canteen and spat again, getting most of it out, but her mouth still feeling gritty.

"It is unbecoming of a lady to spit," said Stanton reproachfully. "You must act with more care lest people think you crude young lady. The last thing you need is people thinking that you are crude, because that leads to people thinking that you have loose inhibitions and from there leads to people having a very poor opinion of you. If people have a poor opinion of you, you will find advancement very difficult and leading the troops even harder. Also, it is bad form," said Stanton turning up his nose at the wet spot of spit.

"Yes Colonel," said Amy wearily. Stanton was a gentleman, but his views on women were that they were fragile creatures that couldn't hear bad language and must never have anything even moderately difficult happen to them. The perks were nice, including her own private part of the bunker with a curtain which was larger than even Stanton's, deserts that somehow found their way into her rations, and she didn't have to stick her head out where a sniper could use it for target practice too much. However, there were drawbacks. Namely she wasn't supposed to swear, spit, scratch, and basically do anything that involved war or what he called "unladylike". He didn't stop her trying to be a commissar outright, but she could tell he didn't like her doing it. It was somewhat funny too how he would react to people even cussing around her. He would just get all stiff and stare right at them and ask them to apologize to her. She had to stop herself from laughing at that for she routinely heard and said far worse than that. She didn't like being treated like a porcelain doll, but Stanton meant well and he wasn't from the same world that she was so there was bound to be culture shock.

"Good. You have the trappings of being a fine young woman miss Walker. Why, I wouldn't be surprised is some well-to-do business man or handsome young aristocrat took an interest in you. You would be well taken care of and live a life free of worries and be content once you get this war business out of your system. I know ladies of your age are rebellious and wild, and by no means am I being insulting when I say it. It is the curse of youth to be reckless, I myself was quite the scoundrel I'll have you know. In time I know you'll see that this foolishness of guard life is simply not for you."

Even walker had to raise an eyebrow at that. Done with this war business? She was a commissar, minimum she had to serve was twenty five years, _after _becoming a full fledged commissar. She was from a world with decently long life expectancy, so 105 years out of the guard give or take wouldn't be too bad. On Vangari, the average lifespan was about 150 years or so. Some lived much longer, others much shorter, all well within the bell curve. Still, she didn't appreciate being talked about like she needed a man to make something of herself.

"I believe that if I so chose, I could do well in whatever I chose to do Colonel. Perhaps I could open a shipping firm after my time in the commissariat? Or even reenlist and become a lord commissar, maybe even get a cross service promotion and become a colonel-commissar. But what I don't need in that, is a man's permission to do what I want to do, or be looked after like a child. Wouldn't you agree? Because _that _I would find rude and offensive."

"Mm, quite right," said Stanton flushing with embarrassment. "Please forgive me miss Walker, I spoke out of turn. That was impolite of me, I meant no offence."

"It's fine Colonel, and it's Junior Commissar," said Walker managing to keep a straight face. Osei managed to hide his smirk behind him arm as he pretended to scratch his cheek. Stanton gave Osei a curt look, then returned to his holo table, a little more serious than before. As backwards as he seemed to her, Walker knew that he was just saying what he honestly thought was best for her. It was kind of sweet that he didn't want her to die.

Walker shut her eyes and put her earplugs back in, taking care to lay on her side this time and pulled a blanket out to cover her from the dirt. It was funny how she hated being in confined spaces, but didn't mind a blanket over her head. Just different circumstances she guessed. This time she did manage to fall asleep and did so for several hours, a new record by this barrage's count.

"So, the 12th Heavy Siege Regiment is responsible for one kilometre of trench line around the city?"

"With the 2nd and 3rd lines behind them, as well as the reserve trench, and our artillery position. But, in essence yes, we only have to worry about this one kilometre of trench line. We have a thousand men in each trench, plus there is at least two more trench lines like ours behind us. I rather like this leapfrog method that we use. We take a trench, hold it, and then the men behind us move up and then take the next line of trenches while we move back. I find it quite nice, these Krieg fellows sure to know how to conduct a siege."

"So in the front line of this ring we have around this city, there's 320 000 guardsmen?" asked Osei. "It seems like a hard number to think of, but considering we're attacking a city with a population of two billion souls, those 320 000 men sound right. Too bad the armour couldn't make an assault, but they'd just be a target for artillery when they come up the slope, not that they'd get past the voids of course. It is 320 000 right? I'm not too good with these holo maps."

"Yes, give or take a few guardsmen of course and indeed too bad about the armour, but the guardsmen we have are more than up to the task. Plus the lines behind them, so it's more likely to be 1.7 million just in the first ring of trenches. We've got about six or seven million men committed to this city in total and once we take it, the world's ours. Well, not counting reserves of course. I mean, the Herion 872nd has 500 000 in their ranks alone, but I suppose they're holding off using them until we make the breach and can just pour them through the gap. Their largest spaceport is here, much of their heavy industry, their largest power plants, and once we take it, we cut off their command and control as well as the best of their industry. Really, they were quite inconsiderate burying the power lines so deep underground, makes digging them up and cutting them a great hassle. Though it would just be easiest to cut them, and then just starve out Olympus while we take the lesser hives."

"Yes, but if we can control the power supply we can restore the void shields to the cities when the meteor season comes around in a years time. It wouldn't do us any good to simply cut the lines, then have to try and repair them a kilometre underground so what we've won doesn't just become rubble from falling rocks."

"Point Commissar," said Stanton. "But if we cut the lines, we could take down or at least weaken the shields of every surrounding hive which would make us able to take them far more easily. Then as I pointed out, we just have to starve out the capital and we win. Any large concentrations of troops will be taken care of by, orbital fire support," said Stanton, seemingly unwilling to say the word navy, almost like it was forbidden.

"Yet, if we do not have the techpriests' available to repair them, then we risk causing great damage to the other hive cities and possibly hundreds of millions of deaths." Stanton started chuckling, before laughing uncontrollably.

"I hope that you are not laughing at the amount of people whom are at risk of dying," said Osei sharply.

"No, no, it's not that," assured Stanton attempting to calm himself. "It's just that, we have one regiment, five thousand men and we're acting like what we decide will become policy."

Osei broke into a smile and soon he too was laughing right alongside Stanton. They laughed and giggled like madmen, finally finding an outlet for the pent up emotions of the last six months. When they finally calmed, both had to wipe tears from their eyes.

"You know, when I look at this holomap, It kind of shows how insignificant our part in this really is," said Osei at last. "We have 4523 men in our regiment now out of an original 5000. It took eight months of training to get them ready for the Korps, plus the months we spent in transit to further prepare them. Time, money, blood, sweat, and tears have been put into training these young men and it doesn't even really seem to make a difference. There is over 12 million assorted guardsmen around this city in various regiments from numerous worlds, plus the rest of the task force around the world. One hundred and twenty million souls, in all that what is our mere 5000?"

"And you said that I needed to look on the brighter side Commissar," said Stanton, a ghost of a smile on his face, but fake in its authenticity.

"Well look at the numbers, we have a little less than 5000 men in our ranks and our spot could easily be taken by another regiment, not as well mind you, but all the same. This siege loses more than 5000 men a day from the shelling, though we make them take five times that number, it makes the individual life seem rather worthless in the grand scheme of things. But as long as they each serve the Emperor, he on high will smile down on their sacrifice."

"No life is worthless Commissar," said Stanton as if thinking back wistfully to past times.

"I know, in everyone there is potential for something, just that sometimes that isn't much," said Osei sardonically. "Sometimes there are just too many fools in this organization, or people who hide while they send others to their death. Each life is worth the same as the other in the beginning, It is their deeds that set them apart."

"That is true, but not really what I was getting at," said Stanton.

"Oh?" asked Osei surprised. "Well what were you getting at Colonel?"

"I was thinking of an old quote taught to me at the Scholam when I was training to be an officer. It was a prestigious school mind you, one that my father had to pull a few string to get me into, the bastard. Still, I miss him. At any rate it had been passed on since the days of Ancient Terra."

"And what kind of quote was it? A strategy maxim, something uplifting, because let me remind you that it is my job to be the uplifting one around here."

"I'll bear that in mind Commissar."

"I'm sure you will Colonel," said Osei not believing it in the slightest.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Do you want to hear the quote?" asked Stanton like an overeager puppy.

"You were the one who brought it up in the first place Colonel, I could care less," said Osei easily putting down a flicker of annoyance. Stanton liked to play games sometimes and as long as you didn't feed the flames of his amusement he would act like the deprived child and simply carry on."

"Not all people are the same though Commissar."

"Is that the quote?" asked Osei less than impressed.

"No it's not, but I'm making a point. Not all men are created equal, some are naturally better. Better at sports, math, art, sciences, or certain skills. Would you agree?"

"Yes I would," said Osei.

"Well, the same holds true for war. Some men are born for it, and they live for it. War can be intoxicating Commissar, for nothing is more exhilarating than being so near death and living. To know that you've survived and proven yourself better than your opponent. To feel so completely alive and your only concerns to be your objectives and orders. If war were not so terrible, man would come to love it too much," said Stanton sagely.

"Is that the quote?" asked Osei.

"No, but it is one. The other I have, it is my favourite."

"And what is that other?"

"For every hundred men they send me, ten should not be here. Eighty are just walking targets and nine are real fighters and we are lucky to have them. But one, one is a real warrior and he will bring everyone back. It is that one Osei, that one in a hundred who are made for the battlefield and the ways of war. It is those one in a hundred that achieve the greatest of feats and never shirk from the fight. Who aren't cowed, aren't broken, and aren't frightened off by the ways of death. It is that one in a hundred who is a soldier born, a warrior whom if we had an army of we could conquer the stars and force the ruinous powers from existence. Most believe that the space marines get those men and to an extent they do, but the guard has its fair share of them. For although not all men are equal in the ways of war Commissar, it is that one, that single soul out of the teeming masses that can make all the difference. One man to tip the balance."

Erich woke with a start as he felt someone pulling at his mask and surged to his feet, dirt cascading off of his form and tackled his aggressor to the muddy floor of the trench, his mace already in his hand. It was as he was about to bring his mace down on his opponents skull, that he noticed the skull visage of a quartermaster's mask staring back at him. Erich held him down in the sucking mud for a moment more as the fatigue left him, just to be sure that he wasn't seeing things and that it was in fact a quartermaster beneath him and not his brain playing tricks on him.

"This master corporal is sorry for mistaking you as an enemy quartermaster," said Erich letting go of the Korpsman and getting back against his wall to protect himself from the falling shells.

"It was a prudent move when caught sleeping," said the quartermaster rising to his haunches, "but I thought that you were dead, having not moved for two days. Are you wounded?"

"No, this master corporal is in optimal health, considering the circumstances," said Erich surprised to learn that he had slept for two days straight. He had been awake for five days at last count and his vision had begun playing tricks on him. It wasn't healthy to stay awake that long, but any effects would be negligible, easily counteracted by his youthful healing factor.

"So you do not need a medicae or any other kind of specialist attention?"

"No Quartermaster."

"Do you require and food or water?"

"No Quartermaster, this trooper has sufficient supplies for another three days, five considering it did not use its supplies for the past two."

"Do you require a replenishment of munitions or replacement equipment?"

"No Quartermaster, this trooper is fully equipped and prepared to fight in either a defensive or offensive action."

"Very well, but remember trooper to maintain a physical regimen as to not let your muscles atrophy while in this barrage. Nothing strenuous and nothing that takes you far, just keeps your muscles active and blood flowing."

"Understood Quartermaster," said Erich. With a barely perceptible nod, the Korpsman quartermaster began moving down the trench line. Erich watched him go, and then his eyes fell upon the dead Korpsman beside him. How many days had he been there? Four? His head was turned away from Erich so that he could no longer see the bloody mask. Erich wondered why the quartermaster hadn't stopped and stripped him of equipment.

Erich was startled when the body moved and the head looked around, and then Erich realized that it was a different Korpsman. One lacking the crossed swords on his lapel and who was of slighter build. He must have been sleeping as well. What time was it anyway?"

Erich risked a glance upwards, and was both pleased and disappointed at the grey, overcast sky. Pleased, because the nausea caused by his agoraphobia was significantly lessened since the sky had a roof, but disappointed, because he had no idea of what time it was.

Looking down to quell what nausea there was, Erich felt an acute sense of shame within himself. He could face down a daemon with a prayer on his lips and nothing but his will and ineffectual weapons to use against it. Yet, he could not stand to look up at the sky or be in a wide open flat space. That paled in comparison, to his fear of heights which seemed all consuming. That was the only portion of his Korps training that he had almost failed, when he had been made to shimmy across a rope suspended a hundred feet above the ground in full combat load. 50 kg of gear and all, plus his rifle and ammo. He had edged his way across, shaking not from exertion, but fear of falling. He had gripped the platform at the other end like it was dirt from Holy Terra and had to bear the disapproving glares of his training officers and sergeants. He just couldn't stand being up high, or flying. Though flying was marginally better since you couldn't see the yawning abyss below you and your knees didn't turn to rubber.

The sound of metal striking metal as a hollow thunk in a rhythmic pattern caused Erich to look over at the Korpsman at his side and saw him striking his helmet with his rifle faster and more violently each time, before bracing it against himself and holding it tightly as if to blot out the noise and constant detonation of the shells. That was a little worrisome. Signs like that showed that a Korpsman could be breaking under the pressure of combat. It wasn't unheard of for a Korps soldier to succumb to shell shock, but the Athenian's weren't even bombarding them directly now. They were shelling a little farther up the line now, so it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been, but you could still feel the thumps as the shells impacted the ground. Erich would have to bring this to the attention of the quartermaster at some point in time.

Erich shifted his boots in the mud around him and wiggled his toes to get circulation going again. There really wasn't much going on and not much to occupy him, but one thing that he did have to do was change the filter in his mask and change his catheter in his pants. It was good for up to a week, being made of a polymer that released chemicals over time to keep it clean, but with his two day nap, it was probably time to change it. It was a holdover from the days of when Krieg had been completely embroiled in war and its soldiers had to be sealed completely to survive. No outside air, no removing clothing, and definitely no breaking a seal to do something as mundane as defecate. So, everything a Krieger needed to do, could be done in his enviro suit. Though they went to the latrines as much as possible, and abstained from catheters and other methods as long as possible, because honestly, sticking a tube up your penis in the middle of a battlefield was not something that you wanted to do. It even pulled a little when you walked if your stride was just a little too long or you walked a certain way it hurt and _that _was not pleasant. Also it made Erich feel like a child to have to answer the call while wearing his clothes. With a sigh, Erich began the process of changing his catheter.

"Ah, nothing like inspecting the troops in the middle of a barrage," said Stanton moving his way down the front line trench in full Praetorian combat dress. Complete with gold tassels, gold braid, and medals atop his carapace armour.

"Colonel, you are risking too much by being at the first line trench, especially dressed as you are."

"What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" asked Stanton with near childlike innocence.

"You don't see the problem with wearing bright red on the front of a major, active battlefield?" asked Osei rhetorically.

"No, what's wrong with it?" asked Stanton. Osei simply gave Stanton a disbelieving look, but it was lost behind his Death Korps mask.

"Never mind," said Osei as Stanton began inspecting the troops. They were muddy and they had the postures of tired and worn out men, but their lasguns gleamed with care and their blades were keen. Their suits, while dirty, were well maintained and fully functional and well within regulations. They stood as they were inspected and stood at attention without being asked. Stanton would ask them some questions and see how they were doing, but he would only get the standard answers. Operational, combat ready, optimal condition, ect. Osei inspected a few, but for the most part let Stanton have his fun. The squelching of boots behind him let him know that Walker was following him.

Walker for her part was happy to be out of the bunker that could collapse, but no less happy to be in an open topped trench with shells raining down, even if they were further up the line. For the most part, she copied what Osei did, stopping when he did, walking as he did, and seeing how he interacted with the guardsmen. She realized that Osei met the two schools of thought in the middle, willing to be friendly, but just as prepared to dish out the Emperor's justice and the guardsmen respected him. Granted they were Korpsman who had unswerving loyalty to anyone with a fancy hat and a bit of gold braid. Walker also realized though, that she wanted to be the kind of commissar that Osei was. Calm, confident, experienced, and respected.

She kind of wished that Daniels was with her, but he had been sent off to deliver a handwritten letter to command that Stanton didn't want to risk to vox for fear of the comm channels being decoded or hacked. If she had to guess, it probably had details of the coming attack or Hades tunnel they were going to dig. It was obvious that they were going to do it, the only question was when.

Somehow Walker got to the front of the procession by virtue of not stopping to inspect troops and wanting to get done the inspection as quickly as possible so that she could go back to the bunker, even as much as she hated it, it was far better than being out where a stray piece of shrapnel could kill her. There were many sharp twists and turns in the trench and around every bend were Korpsmen who were always slumped against the walls and who would always stand to attention when they walked by. Well, those still alive at least. There were a few dead Korpsmen in the mud, who didn't rise and whom the quartermasters had yet to get to. It was dangerous for an entire command staff to be out like this, but Major 12-01 was still in the main command bunker so in the event of the worst, he would take command. That being said, there were several Korpsmen escorting them through the trenches, rifles unlimbered and held in steady hands.

There was really little threat of being attacked in their own trench right now by an actual armed enemy soldier, the largest threat to them was from that of falling shells, but it was better to be safe than dead and a few more friendly las guns at your back was always welcome.

Something shifted under Walker's boot and she stumbled, almost falling to the muddy trench floor. She staggered a few steps before she caught her footing. Walker's cheeks blushed under her mask at having looked clumsy in front of the regiment and with a sense of vindictive justice, she bent down and pulled what had caused her to trip out of the mud. It came with a sucking sound and a pop before it was in her hand and clear of the mud.

Pieces of mud and dirty water ran off of it and Walker almost dropped it out of surprise and revulsion as it became clear what it was. It was an arm. A human arm, still clad in the remnants of a greatcoat sleeve and glove. It was too permeable in her grip, the firm flesh having begun to decompose into a soft squishy mess. Walker could only imagine what it would smell like and was none too keen to experience it, grateful now once again for the mask on her face.

Walker had been in fights before and killed her fair share of enemies, but they had always been mutant or xenos. It had always made it easier to kill things and see the dead when they hadn't been human. It always chilled her to see a dead human, and now she was holding a severed arm in her hand.

So morbidly transfixed with her ghoulish possession, that Walker didn't even notice Stanton walk up to her.

"I believe that the quartermaster can deal with that miss Walker," said Stanton gently, taking the arm out of Walker's grip.

"Yes, yes of course, thank you colonel," said Walker snapping back to reality.

"It's no problem at all Commissar. Please find a quartermaster to deal with this properly," said Stanton handing the arm to one of the Korpsmen at his side.

"Of course sir, just couldn't leave it there," said Walker still somewhat perturbed.

"No I understand Commissar, there's no need to explain. Shall we continue? I believe that Commissar Osei is still inspecting some of the Korpsmen."

"No, it's alright Colonel, I don't mind waiting for Commissar Osei."

"My dear sometimes when a man asks a young lady to go for a walk it is because he wishes to speak with her about something important privately."

"Oh, okay I guess that would be alright," said Walker as Stanton guided her gently with an arm on her back and they continued walking down the trench line, the Korpsmen escorting them falling back to a respectful distance.

"Miss Walker, I really do wish to discuss this war business of yours further," began Stanton like a parent trying to broach the topic of sex with their kid without scarring them.

"Colonel, I believe that I already made my point quite clear on this and I don't appreciate you bringing it up again," said Walker, a trace of anger making its way into her voice.

"I know Commissar, but just hear me out. It was the old goat in me speaking before and I was being very insensitive and uncouth to your values and my gentlemanly nature. I tried to make a point, but I ended up just sounding like an uptight old man scared of change. So with that said, I would like you to give me another chance. Ignore the Korpsman changing his catheter," said Stanton blocking Walker's view of Erich.

"Morning sir, morning Junior Commissar Walker," said Erich cheerfully for a Korpsman.

"It's the afternoon 0817," said Walker somewhat embarrassed.

"It's alright 0817, you don't have to stand at attention," said Stanton quickly as Erich began to stand.

"Thank you sir," said Erich sinking back down and fiddling with the replacement catheter. Stanton picked up his walking pace, forcing Walker to increase hers to keep up.

"So, where was I?" asked Stanton making a point to sound like nothing had just happened after they had put a fair amount of distance between them and the Korpsman.

"Old goat afraid of change," said Walker with a hint of amusement.

"Right, anyways I do want you to get out of the guard and the commissariat, it isn't for you."

"Colonel I fail to see how this is any less uncouth to my sensibilities and my patience for they aren't infinite. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean that I can't be a commissar."

"I didn't mean it like that Walker."

"It's junior commissar, and what do you mean that you didn't mean it like that? Sounds to me like there's only one way to interpret that and it sounds like insubordination," said Walker tapping the reprimand chit book on her belt.

"Uhhgh, I'm terrible at this," muttered Stanton rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Life in the Guard will destroy you Commissar," said Stanton finally.

"What, you think I can't hack it?" asked Walker, now angry.

"No, I mean yes, I mean," Stanton signed Wearily. "you're too kind for this kind of work my dear."

"What?" asked Walker surprised.

"You feel too much and whether you admit it or not I can see the innocence still in your eyes. You still love life, you are happy, you still see the good in people and if you stay in the guard it will suck you dry of all of that."

"It's my duty to serve in the Emperor's wars, no matter the cost to myself or what I have to sacrifice," said Walker vehemently. "Duty is its own reward and it only ends in death."

"Such pretty words that we all say," said Stanton mirthlessly. "We all sign up full of passion and righteous zeal, so full of faith, and for a few it never leaves them. For the rest of us, it leaves and in its place we get a great empty spot in us. Make no mistake, the Imperial Guard is needed beyond a doubt to defend the Imperium and its people, but it costs us so much to do that and more often than not it costs us our lives. But more than that, it costs us who we are. You didn't always think I was a useless drunk did you my dear?"

"Colonel, you shouldn't talk like that. You've done well in the regiment and you have the respect of the men. You're a good man and you do good things, the Imperium needs men like you and it needs people like me here to help keep people's faith and spirits up. You've had a long and distinguished career and you've done a great service and are still doing a great service for the Imperium."

"Do you know what kind of service I've done for the Imperium Miss Walker? Sure, I've fought ork waaggghhhhs, fought the ruinous powers and xenos to be sure. Oh those were the times when I felt like a real champion of humanity. Do you know what I spent the rest of my career doing Miss Walker?"

"You-"

"I spent it watching boys who should have been in scholam being blown to bloody chunks before they even knew they were being shot at. I've seen men scream and beg for their mothers as they lay dying and their friends either dead or dying around them. Sometimes it took days for them to die and no one could get to them. Sometimes we just shot them to save them the agony of a slow death. I've seen men sharing a joke and laughing, playing a game of cards and relaxing, then in an instant the world is filled with screams and blood."

" I've gutted boys barely in their teens and seen the dire hopelessness and fear that only a child can possess on their faces before I bashed in their skulls with the butt of my rifle or a rock. On my orders thousands have been massacred because there was a threat that the ruinous powers had infected them and when we did try to give mercy, the sweet young child that was so terrified a moment ago turns into a snarling monster and rips out the guardsman's throat who was trying to comfort her. I lost my best friend to a creature like that, did you know that? She couldn't have been more than eight and she had just seen a group of hivers executed and she was crying and crying, clutching this little sapien stuffed toy to her chest." Stanton's eyes got a faraway look in them as he said it, and Walker was almost sure that a thin film of moisture was developing on his eyes.

"Richard was a lot like you, you know? He was too kind to be a guardsman, too compassionate to be a ruthless killer. He went up to the little girl, just barely a man at 20 himself and a promising young officer. He bends down and looks the little girl straight in her eyes and tells her that it's going to be okay, that she's going to be safe and everything will be fine. He wiped the tears from her eyes with his white parade gloves that he was so damned proud of and pulled her into him and held her, he kept saying that things were going to be okay. That she was safe now and no one was going to hurt her. It was a beautiful lie, but I think that Richard meant every word of it. For a moment I think that I actually believed that he reached the child, because she stopped crying and hugged him back. Then she started shaking, giggling, then laughing hysterically. I saw her eyes then, black as coal and empty as the void. I saw the surprise of Richard's face and before it could turn to fear the little she-devil sank her teeth into his throat and ripped it out. By throne she was fast, almost got another Praetorian, but we had a sergeant who had been through all this before. He was a good sort, calm, disciplined, and close enough to fearless that it didn't matter if he was or not. He pulled out his las pistol quick as you please and shot her once through the head. We burned the body afterwords, Richard died before we could get a medicae to him, died choking on his own blood as I held him. But he was one of the lucky ones, I've seen men like him get sucked dry and turn into things that aren't even human anymore. You think we fight monsters Commissar? You should see the men who just don't give a damn anymore. They are just shells of what they were, wraiths, but I've seen those shells of men do things that still make me squeamish." Stanton wiped gently at his eyes with a white-gloved finger before continuing.

"Do you think that the Imperial Guard is going to treat these people like a populace brought back under the Imperial fold Commissar? There's going to be looting, rape, murder, and acts that will make your stomach turn. Not all of the guardsmen that we have in our grand army are as disciplined as these Korpsmen, they won't simply stop fighting because the other side has put down their weapons and said We're sorry and we don't want to fight anymore. They're going to take vengeance and there's not a damn thing the commissariat or the officers can do about it. Sure we'll hang a few, shoot a few, reprimand some, bring them all together to have a talking to about how to treat human beings and Imperial subjects, but it won't make much of a difference. Eventually you just won't care about anyone or anything and you'll kill because it's easy and that's what you're told to do. Your eyes so full of life right now, will fade away to two dead sapphires. That is why I want you to find a way out of the guard Miss Walker. Let tired old men like me keep fighting, it's what we're good for and as broken as I am, I'll die happy knowing that I kept someone like you safe and living a happy life. If I can at least keep someone as innocent as you from harm, I'll die a happy man."

"You know Colonel, you try and make yourself sound like a monster and unrepentant sinner, but you're really not. In fact, I would venture so far as to say that you fight so hard and keep doing so even when you could have simply charged down the barrel of a multi las, because you care and love so deeply for the Imperium and people. You want everyone to think that you're hopeless and just a monster so that you can just die and not have to live with the pain of everything you've done, but the fact is you're still a good man."

"How do you figure that Miss Walker?"

"Because Colonel, even with everything that's happened to you, you're still concerned with my life. You're willing to do anything and everything including sacrificing your own life if it means that you can just save one person. Just one life and you're willing to throw yourself into the fray. I have no doubt that you've seen and done terrible things, but you're still a good person Colonel, despite what you may think."

"Maybe I'm just a lecherous old man trying to get into your unmentionables?" said Stanton.

"I wouldn't doubt it," said Walker with a laugh, "But I do doubt it."

"Yes, but I would fear having to get past Daniels, I wouldn't want to infringe on his sensibilities," said Stanton nonchalantly as they rounded a bend in the trench to stand in front of bunker and with no Korpsmen within earshot.

"He is pretty protective of me," said Walker, a nervous flutter in her stomach.

"Lovers generally are," said Stanton fixing Walker with a sharp brown eye that seemed to piece Walker's Korps mask like it was made of paper.

"I don't know what you mean by that Colonel, but I would ask that you keep accusations like that to yourself or I will get offended. I have allowed you to be very informal, but you are crossing a line when you talk about things like that. Do I make myself clear?"

"Please don't play coy Miss Walker, I may have been born at night but I can assure you that it was not last night. You're sleeping with him, I am old, but I still know love when I see it. You don't even hide it that well, hands brushing against each other, gazing too long at the other, smiling when you see each other. It is quite moving, but very inappropriate for a commissar and a guardsman to be involved in."

"I don't know what you mea-"

"Would an inspection by medicae personnel convince you that I know that you're sleeping with Guardsman Daniels, Commissar, or do you want to continue trying my patience?" said Stanton sharply.

"Oh throne, I'm sorry please don't tell anyone," said Walker dropping all pretences and in every sense of the word begging Stanton. "He saved my life and I was being bullied and he was there for me, it wasn't like I meant for it, but it just kind of happened, we clicked you know? He was nice to me, sweet, he listened to what I had to say and he made me happy. Oh I don't want to get shot for this, please don't tell anyone about this, I'll do whatever you want, even if you want to...do things with me. I'll do whatever you want, just don't tell anyone please. It's not his fault, I don't want him to die over something that I did. Please, it was just a mistake I don't want-" Walker stopped talking when Stanton held up a hand.

"It's all right my dear, we all have our vices," said Stanton gently. "I never intended to tell anyone about it, I just wanted to have a talk with you so that you never have to have it with Osei."

"You, you're not going to tell anyone?" asked Walker with a trace of desperate hope in her voice.

"No, like I said to you earlier, I want you to make it out of the guard, not die in it. However, you must be more careful, especially with things like this. It's not a game or a test at the scholam. We don't rap your knuckles here when you break the rules. You. Will. Die, if you make a mistake and someone finds out about it. No more lust filled gazes, no more brushing against each other like horny juvies, and no more of sneaking off into the supply bunker, the quartermasters' know what you're doing. Just be thankful that they came to me and not Osei or else things would be ending much differently for you."

"Thank you Colonel, I don't know, Throne this could have ended badly couldn't it?"

"It could have, just be thankful that it didn't. It still could though if you aren't careful. There isn't much forgiveness in the Guard for things like this, especially for things like this I should say."

"Colonel, if you don't mind me asking though, why are you being so _forgiving_ about this? I mean you say that you want me to make it out alive, but you're overlooking a very strict rule. I mean, most other guard and every other commissar would have shot me for this, or at the very least turned me in."

"My dear, if you haven't noticed I'm not really your average Imperial Guard officer. I've been a soldier a long time Commissar and in that time I've come to be able to distinguish when to bend the rules and where to enforce them. You're young yet and you're bound to make mistakes and I don't want your first one to be your last. Despite what you may think, I've gone through the intrigue of love before and I know that it seems so consuming when you're young. If you want my advice, stop what you're doing for both your sakes, but I know that you won't so all I can tell you is do be discreet."

"Just how much experience with this do you have with this _Sir_?" asked Walker a little miffed.

"Do you know how long I've been in the Imperial Guard on record Miss Walker? 183 years of service, with only 71 of those years actually in the materium. I'm 90 years old Miss Walker and I've seen many things and I know a great deal many more things than I let on. So, how about before I completely ruin our professional relationship and have you cooing all over me like a lovestruck scholam girl we go and find your mentor hmm?" Stanton pushed down the brim of Walker's commissariat cap as he walked past and smiled as she made a decidedly uncommissar-like squeal of protest.

Osei realized that he had been left behind by not only the Colonel as he was apt to do, but by his protege as well.

"When did the Colonel and the Junior Commissar continue on?" asked Osei to one of the Korpsmen who had stayed with him.

"This trooper's chronometer marks their time of departure as eight standard minutes ago," answered the Korpsmen.

Osei sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, or tried to at least, but the Korps mask got in the way of it. He really should make Stanton start wearing his mask, just so the old man knew what it was like to have to wear one.

Osei didn't have to tell the Korpsmen to follow him, they merely began moving as he did and followed him. As Osei rounded a corner in the trench, he tripped over a Korpsman sitting too close to the edge and had to do a hop-jump to keep his footing. An odd high pitched half whine, half groan accompanied it and Osei looked back to see 0817 or Erich, as he had boisterously proclaimed himself to be lying on his side and cradling his groin.

"Are you okay trooper?" asked Osei.

"Commissar, this trooper requires a new catheter," said 0817. "Its last one was just forcibly removed. Commissar, this trooper formally requests permission to remain lying down instead of standing to attention as proper." 0817 spoke with a strained voice, further distorted by the mask that he wore.

"Permission granted," said Osei somewhat awkwardly.

"Thank you sir," said 0817 curling up into a tighter ball.

Osei continued on walking after that and a short time later came upon both Stanton and Walker, walking back down the trench line towards him. Every time that a shell hit, the distant thump would send a dull tremor through the ground which Osei felt through his boots. He really would have to have a talk with Stanton about the proper etiquette when it came to Commissars and hope to throne the man listened.

"So Colonel, I see that you did not deign to inform me that you and Junior Commissar Walker were moving ahead without me."

"Yes I suppose we did," said Stanton seemingly abashed. "But we had a great conversation with just the two of us, didn't we Miss Walker?" If Walker hadn't been wearing her mask, before she reminded Stanton for the umpteenth time that she was still a commissar, a look of guilt would have made itself at home on her face and built a mansion.

Two days after the Colonel's inspection, all shelling by rebel forces stopped as a result of each and every one of their guns having been destroyed in counter battery fire. Sporadic mortar fire still issued from enemy positions surrounding the city, but for the most part anything above autocannon had been effectively destroyed. Artillery fire was still concentrated around points where the enemy had dug tunnels under the void shield to reinforce their outer defensive positions and so far reinforcements had been effectively cut off. This, in addition to reports, detailed troop deployments, estimated casualties, reinforcement schedules, and countless other tactical and strategic data littered the tables at high command, but the average guardsman only knew what they were going to be doing within the next day. What Erich had been blessed to know, was that he was going hunting that night.

Christos crouched lower in the trench, listening as enemy earth shaker rounds slammed into their lines two miles distant. He didn't know who were attacking them or why, but they had been told that it was either xenos auxiliaries or followers of the ruinous powers. Ever since the government had tried to implement severe taxes of food, everyone that Christos knew had been in an uproar. The one old man who Christos always forgot his name had said that it was simply intolerable and he had never seen anything like it.

Apparently the rest of the planet had been just as mad as they had been in the capital and the corrupt governor had been overthrown and a temporary regional government had been established. That had been little less than a year ago, and now they had been invaded, food supplies were running dangerously low and Christos had heard rumours of cannibalism on the lowest levels, with strange mutants coming up out of the underhive. Christos could only hope that help came soon from the Imperium or else things were going to end very badly. Apparently the invaders wore aquillas to mock the Emperor and even with the information blackout, Christos had heard that they had already taken Epirina, Sulexes, and who new how many other hive cities.

Another green flare went up bathing the area in front of them in a sickly green light, competing with the light blue glow of the void shielding which though dim, bathed everything in a hue of blue. Christos had heard that they were fighting heretics that wore complete black clothing and gas masks, some of which looked like skulls to hide their hideous deformities which lay underneath. With their spiked helmets and skull visages, it wasn't hard to imagine what they looked like underneath. Some said they were ghouls, daemons that came in the night for the unwary and would feast on their flesh if caught unawares. Christos had managed to kill one of them, so they weren't invincible, but they also didn't cry out in pain when they got hit. Christos had seen more then a couple of his friends go missing in their infrequent raids and had no desire to be caught unawares. What unnerved him the most though, was that none of the raiders that they sent to their side came back, ever. They always saw them though, in the morning. Nailed to polymer crosses and staring back at them from across no mans land with lifeless eyes. They must surely be daemons then, because what kind of person could do that to someone else? He had to stay vigilant though, they could come again at any time and there was no way that they were going to get past him, he'd show them that he wasn't nearly as lax as the watchers before him.

"See anything yet Christos?" asked a voice behind him and in his surprise, he nearly turned around and shot the bearer of the voice. He relaxed when he saw that it was only Penelope. She was only about 12 or so and small for her age, but they used her to run messages and her smaller size helped her not get hit by the enemy seekers with their telescopic rifles.

"No not yet, what are you doing here Penelope? Shouldn't you be back in the command bunker with the major? Isn't it past you bedtime?" Even in the dark, Christos could see her face twist into a childish look of anger.

"I'm allowed to be out here, I'm a soldier just like you Christos! In fact, I'm bringing an important message to the major, her eyes only," said Penelope waving a sealed container triumphantly and sticking her tongue out.

"Yeah, well I guess that the kids always get to go play fetch for the grownups don't they Penelope?"

"Shut up Christos, you're only like four years older than me, so you don't get to talk."

"Old enough not to have to play fetch," retorted Christos.

"I hope a seeker takes your nose off," said Penelope hotly. Christos cuffed her on the back of the head for that.

"Don't even joke like that, do you understand?"

"Okay, I get it," said Penelope rubbing her head sourly.

"Good, make sure you do, we've lost too many people to seekers for you to say something like that, have some frucking respect for the dead how 'bout you?"

"Alright fine, sorry, have fun staying out here all night in the mud while I spend the night in the warm bunker," said Penelope before taking off, quickly getting out of Christos's reach. He muttered something under his breath about little brats, before raising his head back up above his observation post.

Christos felt his voice catch in his throat as he came literally face to face with a giant black clad daemon, with a gas mask in place of its face. Before he could cry out a warning or think to bring his rifle around, hands like steel closed over his mouth and behind his head so tight that he couldn't even move or breath. Then he felt the impossibly strong hands turn his head savagely to the side and Christos swore that he felt his neck break and lose all feeling below his neck. Christos didn't die immediately, it took a handful of seconds for his brain to run out of oxygen, and another three minutes before he was clinically dead, but in that time, many other black-clad figures entered the section of trench he had been guarding and there were muffled thunks or sounds of tearing flesh as they dispatched his sleeping comrades, having gotten used to the noise of the shelling to be able to sleep. In comparison, a dull snap was nothing but the rustle of leaves lost in a gale of wind. They died without ever knowing who or what had killed them. Before their bodies had even begun to cool, the Korpsmen were already long gone, with a single-minded determination to complete their mission, regardless of the obstacles in their way.

Erich moved carefully, trench mace in one hand and sturmshot ready on a sling. His fellow Korpsmen moved with him, some behind, others in front, their watchmaster in front leading the way. Watchmaster was equivalent to the different ranks of senior sergeant, while the rank of sergeant itself was still used in the Korps.

The trenches were the usual shoddy construction favoured by the Athenians and Erich was amazed that they hadn't simply collapsed from the vibrations of the shelling. Tomorrow though, that was when they'd truly wreak havoc on these Athenians. Phosphorus, shrapnel bomblets, fuel air, earth shaker, all different names for the kind of death that the Korps would unleash upon them. It was going to be a big push, everyone could feel it. The last outer defensive position around the hives glowing with the faint illumination of the massive void shield. It was mainly translucent, but there were spiderwebs of light that made its way across its surface and at night it was easily visible. It would have been a wonder to simply look at, but as it was right now all it did was to further expose them.

Erich stopped and kept watch over a "lodge" as several men from his section went inside, blades drawn, their metal bared to the night like black fangs, silver brilliance dulled for use at night. Moments after they entered, they exited, blades wet with blood and they continued on.

Their mission was simple for the night. All they had to do was wreak a little bit of havoc amongst the enemy ranks. Break a few machine guns, multi las, anything that filled the role of a GPMG, kill some enemy personnel, and if possible capture any high ranking officers or valuable information. They had done this dozens of times before and if anything, the Athenians here were worse trained than those who had come before them. The standing PDF force had been completely obliterated in the opening days of the engagement, having foolishly left the hives to man defensive positions in the mountains surrounding them. Imperial command had responded by turning those mountains into parking lots with orbital bombardment. What they were facing now were simply the dregs of what the Athenians could throw at them. Children, barely trained civilians, and maybe some reserve or if they were lucky, regular officers to rally behind.

The temperature here was downright balmy by Krieg standards, or those aboard a warship as a result of the runoff heat from the hive, but it was still cold here since that Athena II was starting to enter its winter. Not cold enough for snow and ice crystals to last all that long, but enough to make the nights more chilly. He could feel the tension in the air as they moved into a combat situation, at one time debilitating and constricting, now liberating and invigorating, like getting into a sparring match. Erich flexed his hand around his mace and felt the hard synthetic stock through his glove. He felt acutely aware, like every nerve, every sense in his body was on edge and working overtime and his reaction time was immense, like he was a bird and his eyes always moving and looking for signs of danger. Familiarity bred carelessness and although Erich had done this many times before, he still forced himself to remember how dangerous it was. Sometimes Erich wondered if he was becoming addicted to war, but he didn't enjoy the killing so much as he just enjoyed the fighting, like a sparring match. The conditions were hell and personal freedom was virtually nonexistent, but that was life in the guard and he had joined freely and of his own accord. Any consequences were his to bear, but quite frankly he liked the discipline and orderly life of the guard. Faith could motivate you, drive you, push you past your limits, but when all sense of orientation was gone and there were millions of heretics or xenos coming at your lines, discipline was what tempered you and kept you at your post. Discipline held the line.

Erich crept along the trench wall, in the lead now and saw another observer's slot in the wall. He made a sign to let his comrades know his intent and shifted his grip to get a better hold on the mace. He moved as quietly as his uniform and skill would allow, which had improved greatly in the last six months, and paused at the mouth of the opening. A quick peek showed that the observer was looking out into the empty abyss known as "no mans land," and back towards Imperial lines. Erich carefully moved around the corner and came up quietly behind the Athenian, holding the mace ready to bash in the observer's skull.

Erich's boot landed in a muddy patch of earth and it gave off a loud squelch and he cursed himself loudly in his mind. The observer looked back to see what the noise was, but Erich sprang forward and brought his mace down of the observer's face, caving in the side of the skull even as surprise and fear began to spread on her face. A moderately loud thunk and it was over, the observer falling dead before hitting the ground and spasming as her brain fired nerve impulses trying to preserve itself, without knowing that it was already dead.

Erich moved quietly back out into the main trench and saw his watchmaster standing there.

"Sloppy," he signed to Erich and Erich returned, "This trooper will be more careful and apologizes." The watchmaster signed back a quick affirmation, but also sent Erich to the back of the column, where he would be least likely to have to do any more fighting. So, chastened, Erich went to the back of his section and acted as rearguard as they moved forwards.

They killed who they found, broke what weapons they could, but just could not find anything useful in terms of intelligence, or anyone who was above the rank of the most junior of officer. Erich for the most part though, was stuck at the back of the section on the lookout for any sign of alarm or danger. It was an important position and a vital one, but it still felt like he wasn't doing enough to feel useful. He wasn't taking enough of a proactive role in the mission.

With dawn approaching, the Korpsmen knew that they would soon have to head back to their own trench, but they were reluctant to leave without claiming a worthwhile prize. They had been charged to get information or capture an officer and they had yet to do either. Erich for one really did not feel like returning empty handed, especially with his mistake hanging over his head. They were going to get their officer, one way or another.

"Major, I have a message for you," said Penelope holding up the sealed container. It was a plain cylindrical steel container, with a locked screw-cap on one end.

"Do it properly," said the Major Gikas without looking up from her map of the area, displaying the deployments of both Athenian forces in the area, Olympus itself, and what they estimated the enemy's strength to be. It was plastic covered paper and there were polymer markers to represent units and other sights of importance. There were a few tactical scribbles on it, all illuminated by a shielded lumination cone that hung from the ceiling and cast a dim yellow light over the bunker.

"Oh," said Penelope bringing herself to a rough approximation of attention and standing just a little straighter. "Ma'am I have an important message from command for your eyes only. Is that right?"

"Yeah, it's just fine," said Gikas taking the message from Penelope. "Go and get some sleep, I'm sure that you've had a long night."

"Okay, thank you ma'am," said Penelope turning to go. "Oh, wait," said Penelope to herself and stood at attention again and faced toward Gikas. "Ma'am."

"Dismissed private, now get some sleep," said Gikas, a faint smile forming on her lips.

"Goodnight ma'am," said Penelope and went off to her sleeping quarters which consisted of a sleeping bag and kitbag underneath a table. She was sound asleep practically as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"It's really a shame that we need to send people as young as her out to the front. I mean, what the hell is the regional government thinking? They're keeping the best of what we've got within the city walls and they send us only those who are either too young or too old to fight. Then they tell us to do massed assaults against fortified positions with practically no support. It's almost like they're just trying to get us to die."

"Captain Baros, I would like you to keep opinions like that to yourself," said Gikas eyeing the younger man critically.

"Come on Major, you must see that something's not right don't you? I mean just look at the tactics that they're making us use, and when they ordered nearly all of our armoured forces out into the middle of nowhere, knowing that the Imperials had orbital supremacy at the beginning of this whole thing."

"I said shut the fruck up Captain," said Gikas as the other officers and soldiers in the bunker looked their way. She quickly closed the distance and pulled Baros to a side of the bunker and spoke in low, hushed, but vehement tones.

"Are you trying to undermine everything that we have going here?"

"What are you talking about Major? I was just saying that the Imperial-"

"I said shut up, don't you realize that most of our soldiers here don't know that we're fighting against Imperial forces?"

"What?" asked Baros incredulously.

"Yeah, if they knew, how many do you think would throw down their arms and refuse to fight? How many do you think would turn on us? The government would fall and we'd be back under Imperial control within the month."

"We've already lost Major, can't you see that? They've already taken half the frucking planet and we've got nothing left to throw at them. You know General Korba? They massacred him and his entire army, 1 000 000 men and women were just annihilated, 8000 armoured vehicles, 15 000 guns, and Emperor knows how many vehicles. So tell me what difference our troops knowing that we've stepped too far and pissed off the thrice damned Imperial Guard? We've lost," said Baros with grim finality.

"Get your head out of your Throne damned pity pool and listen up Captain, because I'm not quite willing to repeat myself. There's a difference between being conquered and surrendering. If we can force the Imperials into too hard of a fight where they take too many casualties, they'll negotiate a peace. Otherwise, they're going to go looking for anyone who rose up against them and that means us and everyone you see here, and outside fighting and dying in the mud. We need to buy our forces in Olympus enough time to make it a tearer's nest that will let us get to the bargaining tables as equals instead of conquered rebels. Do you understand Captain?"

"You're insane," said Baros, his eyes dawning with revelation. "The Imperial Guard doesn't stop, they don't give a damn about casualties and compared to the rest of the Imperium we're just a speck in the Emperor's domain. We had our shot and we tried to break away, but enough is enough. Why do we continue to fight when there is no point in continuing? When our own people don't even know why we're fighting?"

"Because I've already told you Baros," said Gikas, venom dripping from her words, "We need to go to the tables as equals, not the conquered."

"We're not going to be alive to negotiate!" exploded Baros. "We're sending children against them, because that's all our new _government _will give us to fight them."

"It's not a soldiers place to question Baros," I had hoped that you'd realized that by now."

"You mean like how we weren't supposed to question the governor Major? Because I seem to recall that you were all for rising up against him, but now it's different is it?"

"You're damned right it is Captain and I'm getting sick of you and you're attitude, so how about you watch what you say?"

"Or what, what are you going to do Major? What are you going to do?" taunted Baros.

"Do you really want to find out?" threatened Gikas resting her hand on the butt of her las pistol.

"Oh, so now you're going to shoot me Major? Well maybe you didn't notice, but I've got a gun too," said Baros putting his hand of his own gun. So enraptured was everyone with the heated argument between the two officers, that no one was at all paying attention to the entrance to the bunker.

The Watchmaster and the sergeant had both agreed that they would push all the way to the reserve trench to try and grab the regimental commander and whatever information they could. Everyone knew that it was the height of stupidity to go that far back into enemy lines, especially with dawn a scant few hours away. Still, they had been ordered to try and get an officer before and they had only ever succeeded in getting junior officers who knew nothing. This time it was all or nothing and it was their last chance, because at the crack of dawn, the guns of Krieg would unleash hellfire and destruction on the very positions they now found themselves in.

They moved more carefully than they had before now, knowing that any mistake would be their last. They couldn't even make a mad dash for their own lines if something went wrong, they would all be dead before the dawn.

The Athenians were sleepy here, the rumble of the heavy guns was far off and they moved like those already half dead. Tired, secure, vulnerable, they never saw them coming and were genuinely surprised when Krieg steel met their flesh. They died quietly, their purple uniforms staining dark and their struggles quieted by flak armoured hands.

When they finally came to what they determined was the command bunker, the Watchmaster and the sergeants decided that they would storm the bunker, regardless of the risks. They would use a stun grenade and hope that the Athenians mistook it for an artillery detonation far away. They would go in and use only their melee weapons. Bludgeons and blades would do the work that they needed done, it would be quiet.

There were only two guards outside the bunker, and each of them looked nearly asleep. It was near the end of their watch and they were tired, complacent in the fact that they were safe from anything other than a random falling shell. So secure were they that they didn't see Erich or his compatriots a scant few feet from their backs. They talked in low tones, completely neglecting their duties and trying to pass the time with idle chatter. It was undisciplined and it was liable to get them a harsh talking to from their senior sergeant or Watchmaster equivalent. Fortunately their would be no chewing out for these men, unfortunately though there would be nothing ever again for them either.

Erich crept forward silently just as his counterpart did the same from the other side. This time, Erich checked his footing carefully, determined to not make a mistake again and be worth of his double chevrons and skull. That when the time came, he would be worthy of an even greater rank to come. He gripped a darkened knife in his hand and and crept up to the sentry closest to him. He would time his strike perfectly with that of the Korpsmen on the other side, so that there would be no chance that an alarm would be raised. When Erich was close enough that he could have reached out and touched the Athenian if he so chose, he signalled the Korpsmen and on the count of three they struck.

A quick hand over the mouth and nose to stifle any noise and a quick thrust into the side of the neck and into the spinal column through the arteries and the two Athenians died. Slitting the throat worked, but it could make a gurgling sound as blood mingled with air trying to escape in the throat and windpipe. Through the back and in the side of the neck with a hand covering the mouth seemed to work the best though and so it was used most commonly by the Korps.

They led them gently to the ground and the rest of the Korps section quickly stacked up on the armoured door. When they were ready, Erich pushed it open gently and quietly slipped inside. Amazingly it wasn't locked and there wasn't anyone on the other side to challenge them. His trench mace in one hand and a lightbang within easy reach, he moved cautiously down the steep steps further into the ground. Their masks didn't hiss as they drew in breath, because on missions like this all they relied completely on internal oxygen supplies. All of the CO2 that they produced was stored next to the oxygen containers in the small of their back. The only sound they made was the scruff of their boots on the sodden flakboard steps.

The sound of a metal latch being thrown and yelling caused them all to halt at the corner before the main room. Footsteps in the dirt rapidly got louder and the sound of a latch catching and the muffled voices let them know that the door had closed again on its own. Erich cast a quick glance back at his watchmaster.

"Subdue alive," came the signed response. Erich nodded an affirmation and as the man came around the corner, Erich grabbed him and pulled him into a submission lock and blocked his mouth. The Athenian wasn't that big, average sized and about medium build, probably not much older than Erich, but Throne he was strong. He had a strength beyond his size and pulled and thrashed, his arms bending at impossible angles and if not for Erich's sure grip and extensive training, he was sure that he would have been thrown clear off. The man pushed the ground with his legs and actually _slammed_ Erich into the wall of the trench, lifting him off the ground as he did so. Seeing something was wrong, the other Korpsmen rushed and grabbed him, forcing him to the ground. The scuffle spilled into the small hall leading to the C&C. A couple of the other Korpsmen who weren't wrestling with Athenian sprang around, las carbines and sturm shots ready, but thankfully there were again no guards in front of the door.

Now, a flak glove is made from the same kind of study material that can stop nearly any stub round known to man below a certain calibre and las fire if from a distance or if it's thick enough. A monomolecular knife would cut through it like nothing, but that stands true for most things. Most knives are not monomolecular, but they still have a very good edge to them, put onto good steel. Even still, it takes a fair application of force behind a good edge to cut flak armour. So when the Athenian bit through Erich's glove and nearly took half his hand with it, he was more than a little surprised, and worried if he was being honest.

Feeling hard and sharp teeth brush against his bare flesh, Erich looked quickly to his watchmaster who was giving the sign to "terminate." In a moment of horror, Erich realized that the Athenian's mouth was distending and actually reaching out for him, like a collapsible pylon extending. A Korpsmen who wasn't holding the Athenian to the ground attempted to drive his knife through his neck, but he underestimated the force needed and the blade only made it halfway and it made a kind of sound like when you cracked an egg. The watchmaster ended the struggling by bringing his trench mace down in a savage blow that caved in the back of the Athenian's head with a chitinous CRACK! Blue-grey ichor mixed with red blood splashed up and flowed from the cracked skull. It stuck to their uniforms in gooey globs and seemingly refused to be absorbed into the dirt at their feet. The Korpsmen stared for a moment at each other. This was bad, very bad.

It was made worse by the fact that the door to the control room opened up and there was a startled Athenian trooper in the doorway.

"What?" he began uncertainly, his brain having trouble sorting through the unexpected sensory information. The ozone crack of las fire ended his questioning as the two troopers armed with las carbines fired automatic bursts of fire and blew the trooper in the doorway back, foregoing stealth to eliminate the immediate threat. Erich was up and running again in an instant, acting more on training and instinct than conscious thought. The lightbang grenade in his hand as if by magic and he pulled the arming pin and let fly. It arced into the room and rolled when it landed.

With a combination of training and instinct, the Korpsman turned away from the grenade and shielded their eyes and ears. With a thunderous bang and retina scarring flash of light the Korpsmen rushed into the room, Erich leading.

The occupants in the room were staggering disoriented and clutching at their heads or blinking spots out of their eyes. A few who were recovering faster that should have been humanly possible and bringing weapons around with cold precision despite the situation were gunned down mercilessly with a combination of heavy buckshot and las fire. Their worst fears were realized when the bodies broke apart into ichor filled messes yet again, destroying any doubts they and dire hope they had thought to hold on to. Tyranids. Genestealers must have taken hold and infected a great deal of the populace on Athena II. The question was though, that if there were enough to have the planet up in arms and rebellion, were they just preparing the world for some grander endeavour that they were even now preparing to unleash?

Erich knew far more than the average Imperial and for better or for worse he knew enough that on many things involving xenos or heretics he could make an informed decision of things of the like. If the genestealer population on Athena II was already so entrenched and so well integrated, a tyrannic invasion couldn't be far behind. If that was the case, they had only two options; burn the world and run, or dig in and pray for reinforcements.

When everyone presenting even the smallest probability of a threat had been neutralized, Erich and the other Korpsmen under the direction of the watchmaster trussed up everyone left alive and began inspecting them, leaving two assault troopers with las carbines to guard the door. If anyone heard those shots they would be as good as dead down here, they would never even have a chance of making it back to their own lines if that was the case, not with an entire regiment breathing down their necks. If they had been discovered, they would have to kill all that was left of the command staff and sell their own lives as dearly as they could.

So it was a sense of both relief and giddy excitement when angry Athenian's didn't come barrelling down into the bunker and they realized that they had captured not only a major, but detailed operation maps for the area. There were a few other dazed survivors besides the major, including what looked like her second in the form of a captain bleeding from the ears. No doubt he had stood too close to the lightbang grenade when it had gone off.

The watchmaster made a few curt gestures with his hand and then the Korpsmen not either defending or guarding began grabbing anything of importance and sealing or packing it away. Maps, communiques, force deployments, all of it a goldmine for Imperial intelligence. As well as contingency plans of where to fall back to once they were overrun which would make great targets for Imperial guns once they broke the Athenian's.

Now most people don't notice things that don't really stick out from their surroundings, or blend in enough to not be noticed. Camouflage works much in the same manner, blend into your surroundings so that a casual inspection won't be enough to find you and sometimes not even a concentrated search. As long as people don't know what to look for, there is a good chance that they won't be able to see you. Erich on the other hand had been trained to look for the smallest discrepancies in both terrain and battlefields, training which had saved his life on more than one occasion. It was that same training that brought his attention to the fact that someone was under a table in the far corner of the room.

A couple of subtle hand signs and his fellow Korpsmen knew it just as well as he did. Erich and a couple of other Korpsmen made their way subtly over to the far side of the room, grabbing things of importance along the way, even if it was just the same map they already had, just showing such mundane things like elevation. When Erich was close enough, he let his fellow Korpsmen know that he was going to try and subdue the hostile under the table and they gave hidden gestures of acknowledgement.

Erich nonchalantly took his shotgun out from behind his back, then quickly turned around and crouched, aiming to where he though the person to be. He was right in his assumption, because she was there, all 12 years of her. She barely more than a child, no, still a child and in the fetal position under the table with her knees drawn up to her chest and back against the wall. She eyed Erich with large, fearful eyes and shrank back from him. She looked like she was suffering from shell shock, her eyes seeing him but not and trembling uncontrollably. Erich held out a hand and gestured for her to come out into the open. She didn't move, nor did she give any sign that she had seen his command.

Wary for a trap, Erich crawled under the table, shotgun in one hand and reaching out with the other. This could be a genestealer trick and if it was, he was more than prepared to blow the mutant xeno back to hell where it belonged. When Erich grabbed the front of the two sizes too large flak armour and pulled, the child didn't turn into a ravenous monster and try to kill him, but neither did she put any effort into helping Erich move her. She was light though, so it was no trouble to drag her from out under her hiding place. She sat motionless where Erich deposited her and continued to do so even after being deposited by the rest of the prisoners. Six in total now and it would be a real hassle to get them all back to Imperial lines undetected, especially if one of them decided to make life difficult for them and call out for help. A gag could come free, bonds become loose, a hidden weapon come out, any number of things could happen that could completely undermine everything they had done up until now and spell disaster for the entire mission. First of all though they had to make sure that they weren't going to be bringing back any prisoners infected with a genestealer taint.

Erich didn't have to tell the watchmaster about any form of test, because it seemed that the watchmaster had done all of this before. He had the prisoners brought forward one at a time and had their hand cut with a bayonet. They whimpered and cursed the Korpsmen for their treatment and their blood was put onto a DNA scanner. The little girl didn't make so much as a sound when they cut her hand and Erich made sure to make a small of cut as possible to avoid too much discomfort for her. The prisoners didn't talk to their captors and the Korpsmen didn't talk to the prisoners. Any who tried received a flak armoured cuff on the back of the head and the point of a sturm shot as warning. Now however, they were left with a new dilemma. They had six prisoners, but they neither needed that many or could take them back to their lines without trouble. So the question was, who would they take? The Athenian's became nervous under the Korpsmen's cold stares.

Commissar Jamal Osei rubbed the sleep from his eyes and the grease of old sweat away from his face. He didn't quite like wearing the Korps mask, but it was required and he would be damned if he would be the one who wouldn't wear one when his little protege did and she nearly had a panic attack every time she put one on. She didn't really seem like a commissar at first glance either. She wasn't aggressive or forceful enough, not serious enough, and Emperor knows that she wasn't anywhere confident enough to actually be made into a real commissar to be sent off on her own. Yes, on first glance it seemed that Munitorum clerk somewhere had made a terrible mistake putting her down for commissar training.

Yet, despite her somewhat timid veneer, she had a fire of faith and dedication to duty that some of his fellows were sorely lacking. She griped and complained constantly and no doubt wished to be elsewhere, but she would never forsake her duty for anything and Osei respected that. Confidence would come with experience and forcefulness could be taught, but faith and dedication had to be inherent, otherwise you didn't have a commissar, you had a voice in a big hat.

Osei rubbed at his eyes again trying to remain awake. It was the early hours of the morning and the regiment was getting ready for the final push all along the line, mirroring the efforts of the other regiments at their sides. In just a couple more hours the world would explode in an orgy of hellfire and thunderclaps of artillery and the screams of the wounded and dying. The Death Korps was ruthless in their assaults and they seemed to step on the very heels of their own barrages, descending upon the enemy before they could even emerge from their own shelters to fight the Korpsmen. In fact, Osei was certain that if it there had been enough Korpsmen and there hadn't been so many heavy guns coming from the hive, they would have torn through the Athenian's defences long ago.

One final push after this and the war would be over, well at least this one. The Imperium constantly had thousands of wars raging all across its vast domain in which countless brave men and women gave their lives to ensure that humanity continued to prosper. That was one of the reasons that wars like this made him so angry. There were far greater threats than the problems of some hive world to deal with and yet because of their discontent, millions of guardsmen and thousands of tanks, guns, and aircraft had been diverted to bring them back into the fold. Men and equipment that could have been used to stem, if not reverse the tide of horrors that assailed humanity. That brave men and women had to die fighting other humans sickened him to the very deepest pit of his stomach. That heroes had to die killing the very people they sought to protect. "The blood of heroes is the seed of the Imperium," murmured Osei to himself as he watched the eerie blue light cast off of Olympus's massive void shield.

"Did you say something old boy?" asked Stanton coming up behind him.

"No, just talking to myself," said Osei shaking his head to clear it.

"Bad form to talk to oneself, might make some of the more finicky people think that you're warp touched. Bad form I say Commissar."

"Perhaps, but I don't seem to remember ever giving you permission to speak to me informally, old boy."

"You wound me Commissar, I thought that we had moved past such trivialities as things like protocol, and decency of conduct befitting an officer."

"Colonel we'll never move past things like protocol and I draw the line at you hiring joy girls to bring to the command centre."

"While I never," huffed Stanton indignantly. "She was a perfectly lovely young dove of a woman who was persecuted for no other reason than the way she chose to dress. I still can't fathom the way those Korpsmen treated her."

"She gave her name as Candy, Colonel. Candy to the watchmaster on duty." Stanton giggled like a schoolboy at that.

"Mm, yes, Candy. I wouldn't have minded taking a treat out of her box if you know what I mean old boy. She would have been quite the treat I dare say." Osei rubbed the spot at the bridge of his nose, worried that he might wear the skin and flesh down to the bone with the way that the colonel kept acting.

"Colonel I really don't think that you know how serious this is," began Osei sternly. "You almost gave a civilian access to secure Guard facilities, you broke protocols, and you appropriated Guard funding under the title of leisure activities," said Osei flipping through his notebook. "The reasons you gave were, and I quote, A man gets lonely sometimes and sometimes his capabilities to satisfy his needs are not met by his most dominant tool."

"Well the left is augmetic you see," said Stanton showing his whirring metal hand. "Otherwise I would have no doubt seen to things most handily. Never did quite get used to using the right, always felt awkward, I dare say you know what I mean? Dastardly cold otherwise, what."

"Yes. No! You can't do things like this Colonel, I have to reprimand you for this and someone higher up than me with a far lower tolerance and much hotter temper is going to come down on you hard. Throne some Commissars would shoot you for this, Emperor knows I'm nearing my wits end with you. Your career could be in jeopardy because of this, not to mention your life. Someone could even see this as an act of sabotage and have you taken before a firing squad. She could have been a spy for all you know, or an assassin hired to kill you, or any number of other things that could have crippled our regiment and compromised those around us, maybe even up to high command. Do you understand?"

"You worry too much dear boy, with how bureaucratic the Guard is it could be years before anyone even opens up your report. Or even if they do, it could take years for the decision to actually reach me with any serious consequences. Problems with warp travel and all that."

"That isn't the point, the point is is that you have once again done something with complete disregard for me and for the Guard!"

"Commissar I do believe that I have something that will take your mind off of our current predicament."

"And what would that be? If you would be so kind Colonel I am sure that I would be so delighted to hear it I would defecate rainbows."

"I gave you your food with my right hand," said Stanton holding up right hand and grinning mischievously.

"You're unbelievable, I can't believe that a commissar hasn't taken it upon themselves to shoot you for insubordination," said Osei darkly.

"Oh one did, let me assure you of that Commissar."

"What?"

"See this?" asked Stanton taking off his pith helmet and showing Osei a small mass of scar tissue at the back of his head. "Las bolt straight to the back of the head for insubordination and _indecent behaviour,"_ said Stanton mockingly. "Really, I mean it was something very much similar to this and the good fellow really took it too far. Then again it turned out that the lovely young lady whom I was so infatuated with turned out to be a cultist. Let me tell you old boy that _that_ made for interesting pillow talk. Well the commissar fellow was much less amiable than you are my dear man and decided to make an example of me. Fortunately the Emperor chose to spare my life and restart my heart after being clinically dead and so far as I know I am the only Guard Officer to be summarily executed and then continue serving in his Emperor's most vaunted Imperial Guard. Since I was technically _executed _for my crimes and absolved for them there was nothing the poor bugger could do about it once I sat back up. Long story short, he died being made half a man by an ork and I received some brain augmentations. So when I say the old gears are turning, I mean that they're literally turning."

"Colonel sometimes I don't know when you're kidding and when you're being serious."

"Oh? Well, augmetic brain and all that, messes with my emotions sometimes. You can actually hear it if you put your head right close to mine. Would you like to hear it Commissar?"

"No Colonel I do not want to hear your augmetic brain."

"Come on be a sport."

"No Colonel I'm not going to listen to your brain."

"Be a friend."

"I'm you're Commissar first, friend second Colonel, I don't know why you keep testing the boundaries."

"It ticks if you listen closely."

"I'm not going to listen to your brain Colonel."

"It's bad form to refuse an offer Commissar. You don't want to be guilty of bad form do you?"

"Stop asking."

"Please?"

"I'll shoot you."

"They've tried that dear boy, it didn't work."

"I didn't try."

"What if I ask very nicely?"

"You know what? Fine. If you'll shut up about it I'll listen to your brain and make you happy," said Osei finally exasperated and he rubbed fiercely at his third eye before leaning in close to Stanton.

"Ah excellent," said Stanton. "Come in close, yes that's it, right against my head you'll hear it best."

"I don't hear anything," said Osei after a moment.

"Give it a moment," assured Stanton. "You'll hear it ticking."

"Maybe it's just not being used."

"Oh that stings Commissar, tell me if you hear it now."

"Yes I think that I do. Yes I can hear it clearly now, it sounds like a clock."

"That's because it is."

"What-ah!" cried out Osei startled as a harsh ringing erupted next to his ear and he pulled back and saw that Stanton had an alarm clock in his hand that was shaking and moving in his hand. He laughed uproariously at Osei's reaction.

"Child," seethed Osei.

"Come now don't be such a sore sport Commissar, it was only a joke."

"No, no more jokes, one more and I'm going to relieve you of command. This is unbefitting of an officer of the Guard and a member of the Commissariat."

"Oh com-"

"Enough!" said Osei sharply. "You seem to think that I'm kidding, but I have never been more serious."

"Understood Commissar, I am sorry if I took things too far. Forgive me for my lapse if judgement, I will be sure not to do so again it the future," said Stanton for once showing the discipline of a Guard officer. "I do hope that you do not think poorly for me because of this."

"I think poorly of you because of your behaviour," said Osei angrily. "You're lucky that I still think that you're worth salvaging, otherwise I would have shipped you off long ago Colonel. You're a dinosaur who acts like a child and seem to think that you can do and say whatever you please. You wanna die so badly? Then charge a frakking multi-las, because I'm sick of your behaviour, you're worse than a child."

"Colonel, Commissar, I hope that I am not interrupting, but I have come to inform you that the raiding team has returned, and they've brought both the regimental commander and her second for interrogation."

"Ye-very good Regimental Watchmaster, we'll be along momentarily," said Osei to the highest ranking nomcom in the whole of the 12th. At and above the rank of sergeant, Korpsmen were allowed to refer to themselves in the first person. This Watchmaster could have been an officer if he wanted, but he had refused, instead choosing to pursue his career as far in the enlisted ranks as possible so that he could still serve in the field more and be with the men, instead of cooped up in a bunker with data streams and printouts. He was a smartly dressed Korpsmen and bore both the death heads of the notorious grenadiers and the silver flame burst of demolitions on his lapels. He had served in first the demolition company, which had the highest casualty rate in any Krieg regiment and were said to be some of the most zealous besides that of the grenadiers themselves. Then he had transferred to and survived the grenadier company which was the most zealous of _any _Guard soldier that Osei had ever seen. He was probably no more than 30 at the absolute oldest, yet he carried himself like a veteran of 20 years, no doubt though that he was nearing that mark. Osei half wondered how many times he had seen his regiment reformed for the ashes of the old one.

"Have them prepare the prisoner for our arrival," said Stanon curtly.

"It's already done sir, we're just waiting on your approval and attendance to begin."

"Then let's not tarry," said Stanton starting off with a brisk pace.

Walker stood at the far corner of the interrogation bunker along with another Commissar whose name she couldn't pronounce and his junior commissar who was shadowing him just as she was shadowing Osei. Walker sized up her peer and compared him to herself, wondering who was the better commissar.

He was average height for some worlds, a few inches shy of six feet, but he stood ramrod straight as if allowing his spine to bend would be a personal affront to the Emperor himself. His uniform was much the same as hers, black hat with gold aquilla and red band, black coat, black pants, and black boots. There were some differences though that were probably regimental variation though. The inside of his coat was red trimmed with gold and the cuffs on his sleeves were also trimmed with gold. His boots also had a golden stripe down them. His mentor had the same kind of getup so it supported her theory that it was a regimental thing. The sword at his hip was a single edged cavalry sabre whether mono-edged or not she didn't know and he had a las pistol in a holster at his hip. He had been introduced as Junior Commissar Guntram Von Waisenkind, a native of Krieg and adjutant to the Commissar of the 101st Krieg regiment. He was apparently serving out his internship in his native planet's regiments before receiving his own commission and going off to make sure some other regiment behaved.

He wore the Krieg issue commissariat gas mask with its leering red teardrop shaped eye lenses and his attention was firmly fixed on the Athenian officer sitting shackled to a chair bolted to the floor, with a metal table separating her from Colonel Stanton and Commissar Osei. She would be shipped back to proper commissariat holding facilities for in depth interrogation later on, especially since that the planned assault was only a few hours away and they simply didn't have the time to take the major further back into Imperial lines. So, a short interrogation would have to do, so Amy settled down to watch.

Major Gikas sat glowering at Osei and Stanton in equal turns, her eyes having dark bags under them from lack of sleep and her chocolate brown hair askew and dirty from her capture and subsequent dragging bound and gagged through 'no man's land.' She was filthy, covered in mud with a few flecks of blood and she had a nasty bruise on her forehead. Still, she sat like she was the planetary governor looking down on some petty criminal who's crimes had been brought before her. She looked defiant and righteous even in her capture, but Imperial command would break her of that, or just break her.

"May I offer you an iho stick miss?" asked Stanton producing a pack of iho sticks from the breast pocket of his scarlet tunic. "I do believe that worlds such as this allow such things, do they not?" Gikas just glared at Stanton, her eyes like tow pieces of petrified wood, hard and giving no tell other than disgust and loathing.

"Was never partial to iho sticks myself, simply bad form," said Stanton putting away the package and pulling out a cigar. His augmetic arm whirred and produced first a cigar cutter, then a blue flame with which to light it. "Was always more partial to cigars myself, more flavour my dear, allows you to savour it. I've always found it liberating," remarked Stanton idly blowing a cloud of smoke in Gikas' face after taking a deep puff of the cigar. "Though I doubt very much that anyone will be doing any liberating for you, woman."

"Oh? Just like the liberation that you've brought our world? All you've brought with you is death and hardship. The Imperium imposed taxes upon us, stripped us of our rights, forced us out of our homes, made us have to beg on the streets like paupers, and made us less than animals. You think that I would ever accept an iho stick or one of your posh cigars? Do you even know the poverty and squalor that you've caused? The Death?"

"As I recall, the tithe for this world for the Imperium was mostly in the form of men and women for guard regiments," said Osei having removed his mask so that Gikas could see his eyes. "There was no monetary or resource tribute to the Imperium other than manpower and weapons with which to arm them. The Imperium isn't picky about who you send, as long as they can tie their boots, shoot a las, and follow orders. This was actually meant to help you as it gave your planet a way to get rid of criminals and those from the under hives to actually reduce crime and keep the population under control. So any problems you had on this world were a direct result of your own government and I am sorry to tell you this, but hive worlds are very poor places to live. This is one of the better ones, though unfortunately your uprising had made quite a mess of it. I don't seem to recall you getting overly upset about the_ purges_, or the _disappearance _of dissenters. How many were found in mass graves again Colonel? "

"I seem to recall 500 000 at last estimate, but we're still digging and that was about a month ago so that estimate is probably terribly out of date Commissar, sorry not to be of more help. Then again, digging hasn't even been a priority since the beginning so who really knows?"

"Those are lies spread by the Imperium and you know it!" raged Gikas angrily. "We're not like you, we're _better _than you and we actually respect people's rights. We've treated every prisoner humanely and with all the respect deserved of by a human being. Not the cattle you treated us like. We've grown tired of your oppressive rule and your persecution of those too weak to have their voices heard by the Imperium."

"Rights? Oh, you mean the rules of conduct that the Imperium agreed upon to give its citizens to stop unlawful persecution and other such calamities such as terrorizing people for no reason and dragging them out of their beds in the middle of the night to kill them? Well let me tell you something Major, we have those rights, because we _agreed _that they were good, because that was how we wanted to be treated. Sorry to burst you bubble, but that charter that you came up with that contained its so-called immutable rights for people? It's words. Words enforced by strength of arm and the will of those who wrote them. What rights does a man have begging for mercy from an ork? What rights does a babe have when it is torn from its mothers arms and eaten by a mutant? The answer is none. I hate to tell you this, but the universe owes nobody absolutely anything and yet you seem to think that just because something makes you _unhappy _it shouldn't be allowed to happen. You're rights are words, nothing more and infinitely less. We've built this world for-"

"You didn't put in a damn tier of this world you Imperial fruck, all you came to do was tear down the freedom that we've attained for ourselves."

"Unless you're a lower hiver of course correct? From what I've heard there's been no change in their living conditions at all. In fact if anything its worsened, especially since your false claimants have cut all humanitarian aid and raided the ecclesiarchy, especially those trying to hand out food. Now my dear, I am a man who can forgive a great deal many things, but what I can not forgive is your blatant disregard for the Emperor and the greater humanity for your own petty concerns. Do you know how many Imperial servants you've killed? That it's your fault that have died? Boys and girls, children not yet adults or just in the margin to be legal by their worlds. Not only that, but you're making them kill your children."

"I haven't done a damned thing you Imperial bastards! You're all tyrants come to put the collar back on us and put us back to work."

"Major you're beginning to bore me, you sound like a broken record sprouting all these lofty ideals about like you actually make sure any of them come to pass," mocked Osei.

"Fruck yourself sandman," spat Gikas.

"I think she insulted you Commissar," remarked Stanton dryly. "Will you or will I?"

"By all means," said Osei. Stanton reached out like a man going for a stretch, before bringing his natural hand across Gikas' face hard enough to split her lip and draw blood.

"Tyrant," spat out Gikas with a gob of blood.

"Believe it or not my dear, that was me being kind and please do believe me when I say our time debating this topic is done. If you don't tell us what we want to know, we will make you're wildest and most fanatical dreams come true. We'll show you just how cruel and unjust we can really be. Then we'll send you to those who really are what you think they are and they _will_ make you talk. Along with cry, scream, and beg like the uppity little girl you are. But I do wish to avoid things like that, bad form you see."

"Dick licker."

"How terribly rude," said Stanton, then Osei hit her this time. It split her other lip and made her scowl all the more ghastly because of it.

"I have rights," said Gikas.

"I wasn't aware," said Stanton as he struck her again. "Do they extend to your xeno friends too? I seem to remember a large portion of your command staff to have been of xeno origin. Tryanids and genestealers are nasty business by dear, though I don't think you realize how nasty they really can be. If you're lucky, and I mean really lucky, we might be able to get a fleet here in time now before of their cousins of much less refined tastes show up. Bad form to have genestealers running amok. Very bad form."

"They were being oppressed just as much as we were, we freed them."

"Yes you...what did you say?" asked Stanton, his voice deathly quiet.

"I said that they were being as oppressed as much as we were. They're called mutants and xenos, but how _dare_ you say that they have to die, just because they're mixed with xenos. How _dare_ you say that my son had to die because he's been supposedly infected with the taint. They're free now, and they're bringing an army to help us and crush you Imperial bastards," said Major Gikas, a smug smile on her face. "They'll crush you."

"Insane...insanity, this...this...what have you done?!" exploded Stanton. "Do you have any idea, any idea what you've done at all? You've doomed you and you're world, they'll devour you and everything you know? Have you ever even seen a tryanid?"

"We-"

"Shut up," said Osei, his eyes hard. "Shut your heretical mouth or I swear I'll kill you right now. "You think you've seen tyranids, but you've only seen their bastardized cousins. I can't even bring myself to talk to you anymore, you're too deranged. Too Throne damned stupid to listen to. Korpsman, take this woman out of here now. I don't care if her escort isn't here yet, get two others and taker her out of my sight."

"At once Commissar," said A Korpsman with the rank of sergeant and he along with another trooper went and freed Gikas from her restraints, only to put her in new ones and then they began taking her out the door. When she tried to say something else, she was hit with the rifle butt of a las rifle and that was when she got the message to stop talking.

"Commissar, I don't think that I can even consider another interrogation today, especially if the rest are just like her. What do you say we head back to the command bunker and oversee the final stages of our assault plans?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea Colonel," said Osei rising. "Walker."

"Uh, yes sir?" said Walker taken by surprise.

"The next interrogation will be up to you to perform. Commissar Dietrich, would you like to watch or would you like to head back?"

"I have matters to deal with in my own regiment, but I thank you for extending the invitation to come and view this interrogation. It was enlightening to say the least and I must prepare my own Korpsmen for what they may encounter. Come along Waisenkind, we've got some work to do and not a lot of time to do it."

"Yes sir," said the junior commissar, quickly following his mentor and Colonel Stanton along with Commissar Osei out of the bunker. When it shut, Amy was the highest ranking person in the room (technically) and took a deep breath to calm herself and began clearing her mind of any distractions. It would just be like how they rehearsed at the scholam. Be firm, let them know who's in charge, and above all else show complete confidence. Let them know what dire straits they're in and they'll talk all you want them to.

"Junior Commissar, would you like us to send in the other prisoner for interrogation now?" asked a corporal in Krieg battledress.

"Yes, send him in," said Walker making any last minute changes to her uniform, setting her cap just so and facing towards the door, looking like all the world like some kind of daemon in her Korps issue mask and commissariat uniform. She linked her fingers on top of the table and stared towards the metal door waiting for the next Athenian she was supposed to interrogate. She thought about laying her las pistol on the table for intimidation, but that just seemed stupid to her, so she just sat as she was and waited. When the door opened, her heart almost broke.

In plas steel manacles, was a little girl of about 10-12 years old and she looked absolutely terrified, even if her eyes did look dead. The clink of manacles announced every step she took and when she got to the metal table in the centre of the room, the two Korpsmen escorting her locked her chains to both a tie down point on the floor and the underside of the table. When she sat down with her back flush against the back of the chair, her legs didn't even touch the ground. The little girl didn't even look at her or anyone else, just straight at the floor. She was muddy, dirty, and looked like she was suffering from lack of sleep, but more than that she just looked like a scared child.

"My name is Junior Commissar Amy Walker of the Emperor's most vaunted Imperial Guard. I wear this crimson sash as a badge of office and I have the authority to dispense the Emperor's justice as I see fit, where I see fit. You are charged with rebelling against the Emperor and those who represent him, do you understand these charges?" The words felt hollow to Amy even as she said them and not once did the little girl look up or meet her gaze, just stayed staring down at the floor between her boot soles.

"My first question is, what is your name?" asked Walker. The little girl in the dirty purple uniform just stayed silent however and continued staring at the floor between her feet. It felt like there was an active chainblade inside of Walker the way her guts were twisting and she wanted nothing more than to just leave this terrible little room, but she had a job to do.

"Your name, what is it?" asked Walker in a harder tone. When the little girl didn't say anything, one of the Korpsmen started forward, but Walker stopped him with a gesture. She might have done and would have to do many questionable things in her career, but there was no way in any hell that she was going to have a child beat for something like their name.

"What is your name!" demanded Walker, using her Commissariat training to make voice cut like a powerblade and she slammed her fist down on the metal table. The little girl in front of her jumped at the sound and began to tremble. Walker felt sick with herself.

"Pe-Penelope," stuttered out the little girl in the chair. She sounded close to tears and Walker felt her disgust of herself increase.

"Look, I'm being a little harsh, would you like a candy?" asked Walker taking out a plastic wrapped hard candy and putting it on the table in front of Penelope. Penelope took the candy and threw it on the ground instead of eating it. A Korpsman whom Penelope could see this time started forwards and Penelope stared with doe-like eyes, wide with fear.

"Stay where you are! Don't move unless I say to," barked out Walker to the Korpsmen who returned to his guard position.

A low moaning sound soon turned into sobs and Walker watched as Penelope began to cry and say that she wanted to go home and that she wanted her mom. Walker couldn't keep up the charade of an interrogation anymore.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, no one's going to hurt you okay?" said Walker gently as she reached out to put a reassuring hand on Penelope's only for her to draw it back like she was a daemon. Though she certainly looked the part. Walker finally saw things as an outside observer and not as a commissar and saw a scared little girl away from home and everything familiar in a room full of trained killers and one with red eyes and a face like a daemon demanding things from her. Not to mention she was chained down like an animal. Walker almost couldn't stand herself by this point.

With a hiss, Walker took off her mask and set it on the table and her commissariat cap soon followed, revealing golden blonde hair and bright blue, sympathetic eyes. Much more comforting than the daemon visage of the Korps mask and all imposing commissariat hat with its pitiless golden aquilla.

"It's okay, you don't need to cry," said Amy softly. "I'm Amy and you're safe now, you don't need to cry okay?" If Penelope heard her, she gave no sign and her underdeveloped limbs pulled at the restraints like she wanted to curl up into a ball and just hide until everything went back to how it was supposed to be.

Amy stood up quickly which just caused Penelope to cry harder and walked around to her side of the table and quickly undid her restraints. Penelope curled up into the call she had been trying to before and Amy kneeled down so that she was level with her.

"Hey, hey look at me," said Amy softly, gently stroking Penelope's hair. Brown, tear reddened eyes looked up at her. "No one's going to hurt you okay? My name's Amy, yours is Penelope right? That's a pretty name, who are you named after?"

"M-my gra-ndma," choked out Penelope.

"Well she must be just as pretty as you are Penelope. How old are you?"

"Tw-twelve."

"Oh, I remember being twelve, any cute boys that you like or are they all icky?"

"I want to g-go h-home," sobbed Penelope."

"I'm sorry sweetie, but you can't go home," said Amy genuinely sad about the fact.

"I want my mommy," sobbed Penelope burying her face into her knees again.

"Hey, hey no crying, big girls don't cry," said Amy trying to make Penelope feel better but only making her cry harder.

"It's going to be alright Penelope, here, come here," said Walker drawing Penelope into a hug. "Shh, it's going to be okay, you're going to be fine. I'm here now, you're going to be safe now, I've got you." Penelope latched onto Amy like a drowning man clings to a rock, and for a moment, Amy remembered Stanton's story and she felt icy tendrils of fear take hold in her chest, but they melted when Penelope just buried her face in her neck and continued to cry. Seeking solace in the only friendly person that she had met.

"It's going to be okay Penelope, It's going to be okay," said Amy feeling her own eyes start to brim with tears and she hugged her back just as hard.

Erich watched the seconds tick by on his wrist chronometer, watching the hands slowly get closer to six AM. Any second now every gun along the entire front was about erupt and the anticipation was killing him. 5:59:45, 5:59:46, 5:59:47. Any second now it was going to start. Erich gripped his rifle tighter and made sure that his bayonet was secure in its lug. It was always the time before the attack that was the worst, never in the fight, always before.

5:59:54, 5:59:55, 5:5956. Erich pushed himself just a little harder into the muddy trench wall and felt his heart start to hammer in his chest and the adrenaline start making him twitchy. He had to fight the urge to simply hop the lip of the trench and charge the Athenian lines by himself.

5:59:58, 5:59:59, 6:00:00. The world exploded. A blast like a nuke going off sounded and the earth shook like an earthquake was commencing. The ground shook with every inpact, some shells no bigger than 132mm, others approaching up to 600mm in calibre. There were hard shells, concussive shells, cluster munitions, fuel air, incinerary, jellied promethium, shrapnel, earth shaker, and dozens of other types all intended to turn the enemy positions into a living hellhole. They had spend days of frantic activity repairing this trench after they took it, because in many places there had no longer been a trench, only a giant crater.

Even as far away as they were, Erich could still feel the heat runoff from the shells and dirt was cascading down from the barrage. The earth shook so much, that it rattled Erich's teeth in his gums and he had to clench his jaw shut. The audio system in his mask and helmet simply shut off to save his hearing, but he could still feel the boom of heavy shells in his diaphram. After ten minutes of shelling, the barrage lessened and like automatons, the Korpsmen rose above the lip of the trench, shells still whistling overhead and impacting the Athenian positions. Krieg assaults worked on clockwork precision, and timing was everything.

The Kriegers advanced on the heels of their own barrage, shells exploding scarecly more than a hundred metres in from of them, in some cases as close as seventy. The creeping barrage required a great deal of training and discipline not only for the gunners, but for the Korpsmen as well. If someone got out of step, moved too fast, misjudged the timing, charged too soon, and it would be all over. They moved forwards like that for nearly five minutes, and when it was merely a dozen seconds from six fifteen, they charged.

Bayonets held at shoulder level, the Korpsmen charged in a rough line, bayonets glinting in the early dawn light and from the glow of the massive void shields. Points honed to a razor keen stood out primly on the end of the rifles of the men charging into their own shells. At exactly 6:15, the shelling abruptly stopped and the Korpsmen charged into the Athenian trenches before the last clump of dirt came back down to earth. The fighting was brutal, but laughably short.

No matter how intense a barrage short of exterminatus, there will always be those who manage to survive through simple luck, physics, or being in the right place at the right time. That is why you cannot simply win a war with more guns than the enemy and more shells at your disposal. It took the infantry to move in and clear them out. It took sweat, courage, steel, blood, and someone prepared to kill without hesitation. The Korpsmen had all of that and more.

The first few to stagger out of their shelters were speared through by a half-dozen bayonets apiece and the shelters they came out of had grenades tossed in that expelled a flammable toxic gas. When it finished expelling its lethal load, it ignited and exploded spectacularly. Then Korpsmen entered and killed any who were still alive, putting a few rounds in some crisped bodies for good measure.

When the fighting got particularly close and brutal, the Korpsmen pulled out their trench maces, and caved in skulls left and right. Broke collarbones and shattered ribcages' like they were made of glass. Some assault teams carried flamethrowers and their blue and red flames licked at all they saw, turning men and women into living candles. Taking the last of the Athenian trench lines only took thirty minutes, many of those who came out to offer resistance were too dazed to put up a real fight and were instead used for target practice by dead-eyed Korpsmen. By the time they were done, only a hundred Athenians were alive, all prisoner and many of them wounded. All in all it had been a pitiful excuse for a defence, many had broken and attempted to run back to the tunnels to their city, only to find them collapsed. All along the line, a similar scene was playing itself out hundreds of times. Some assaults took the better part of the day, others like the Korpsmen, were over in under an hour. Now since all the defences outside the Athenian city were gone, the only question was, who would get the honour of cracking open the city, like an egg?

AN: Well this was a bit of a shorter chapter, only around 25k worth of words, but this just seemed like the perfect place to end it and still have it fit with the title of the chapter and the mood. That and it's coming out a month sooner than the other chapter (sorry I got lazy). For those of you wondering why some chapters of greater length come out in shorter time periods, it's because I'm a bit schizophrenic in how I write. I mean I've written at least another 35k worth of words along with this on various other projects, the only one of which that I've published is Scourge of Commoragh. I mean I've got about 5k worth of a sisters of battle fic, 8k in a Darker than Black fic, and another 8k in a Song of ice and fire fic. I kind of just like writing and whatever turns my fancy, I write about. So sorry about that, but I will make sure that I keep putting chapters of this out. Also shout out goes to Drkeo for Guntran Von Waisenkind. I just did a little introduction this chapter, but he'll be heavily involved in the next chapter. I keep thinking you pen name is Dr. Keo, kind of like a fruit. Is that how you say it or is it different? Sorry if that offends you. Well to everyone, thanks for reading and please leave a review to tell me what you think of this chapter.


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